


a little secret

by andnowforyaya



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Blood and Violence, Bullying, Fights, Flirting, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: A little past midnight, Zhangjing woke up when he heard knocking at his bedroom window. His family lived in an apartment on the second floor of a building in the middle of Taipei, surrounded only by other buildings that looked exactly the same as his and by concrete, so the knocking was either some trash tapping against the glass that had been carried up from the sidewalk by the wind, or it was Yanjun, again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is my first npc fic. i'm sorry? also please know that their ages aren't their actual ages. basically they're all in high school.

A little past midnight, Zhangjing woke up when he heard knocking at his bedroom window. His family lived in an apartment on the second floor of a building in the middle of Taipei, surrounded only by other buildings that looked exactly the same as his and by concrete, so the knocking was either some trash tapping against the glass that had been carried up from the sidewalk by the wind, or it was Yanjun, again.

At this point, Zhangjing wasn’t sure why Yanjun even bothered knocking.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed quietly, scratching at his hair and rubbing at his eyes with his fists. He’d gone to bed just a little over an hour ago after finishing up his homework, and now he went over to his desk in the corner and flipped on the lamp light again. Its glow was concentrated and its reach was small enough so that no light could filter underneath the crack under his door and into the hallway. He went to the window next, tugging at the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing to sleep and groaning in self pity at having been woken up, chastising words already prepared on the tip of his tongue.

He could perfectly imagine Yanjun there, squatting on the second floor fire escape and grinning lopsidedly through the glass, waiting for Zhangjing to open up so that he could tell him all about some crazy thing he did or saw today, and usually this was fine. Usually Zhangjing really enjoyed his company -- Yanjun was his best friend, after all -- but Zhangjing had really been hoping for peace tonight. With school, and the mounting hours of homework, and the musical he was starring in, he’d been getting very little sleep over the past few days, maybe weeks, and he’d been looking forward to being unconscious for as long as possible before he had to wake up again for school in the morning.

“Yanjun,” he said quietly, throwing his thin curtains open. “Don’t you have your own bed to sleep in?”

Yanjun was not grinning lopsidedly at the window like Zhangjing had imagined -- and hoped. With a surprised little yelp, Zhangjing registered what he was seeing, his heart starting to beat frantically in his chest. 

Yanjun was hurt! His friend leaned against the window, eyelids fluttering. Blood oozed from a wound above his eyebrow, and trickled from his nose over his upper lip. He was still in his school uniform, though there was blood on the collar of the grey jacket now. With equal amounts haste and care, Zhangjing eased his window open and caught Yanjun when he fell through without the support.

“What happened?” Zhangjing whispered. “Another fight?” He felt like crying. He wasn’t good with blood and he definitely wasn’t good with Yanjun being hurt, though this wasn’t the first time this had happened. He dragged Yanjun into his room as best he could, through the window and over his bookcase right under the sill. Yanjun was conscious enough to try to help as Zhangjing dragged him into his room, but he was disoriented enough that his efforts just made his wriggling body more difficult to maneuver. Finally, panting, Zhangjing managed to lay him down onto the floor. “Lin Yanjun, why’d you come here and not to the hospital!”

“Don’t need,” Yanjun managed. “I’m fine. Just need -- bandaids.”

Like hell, Zhangjing thought to himself. Yanjun was pretty beat up, but he’d seen worse. A quick scan of Yanjun’s body told Zhangjing that most of the wounds were on his face, and they weren’t that deep, either. 

“Don’t move,” Zhangjing said forcefully. “Move, and I’ll kill you.” With some hesitation, Zhangjing left Yanjun on the floor and ran as quietly as he could to the bathroom down the hall where his family kept a first aid kit under the sink. He brought the kit out and opened it, mentally inventorying its contents. The bandaids was running low, but he had enough for tonight, at least. He wet a small towel in the sink, too, running back to his room with it and the first aid kit, and saw Yanjun sitting with his back propped up against Zhangjing’s bed. He’d taken off his grey jacket, leaving him in a rumpled white collared shirt and grey pants. “You moved,” Zhangjing said testily, kneeling on the floor beside him and putting the first aid kit down.

“Sorry,” Yanjun whispered. He was looking at Zhangjing with slightly glassy, unfocused eyes, and Zhangjing tutted, taking the towel in one hand and holding Yanjun’s face by his chin in the other. 

“Stay still,” Zhangjing said. He dabbed at the wound above Yanjun’s eyebrow first, wincing in sympathy when Yanjun hissed and flinched at the pressure. “Hurts?”

“Of course, dumbass,” Yanjun mumbled. 

Zhangjing pinched his chin in retaliation and continued dabbing at the wound, cleaning it. “Who’s the dumbass here? Certainly not me. I’m perfectly fine and whole and was in bed at a reasonable hour on a school night.”

“It’s me,” Yanjun said. “I’m the dumbass.”

“That’s right.” Zhangjing frowned, cleaning the sticky blood from Yanjun’s face. He put the towel over his shoulder and opened the first aid kit, taking out some antiseptic cream, a q-tip, and a butterfly bandaid. With the q-tip, he smoothed the cream over the cut, and then he carefully put the bandaid over it. That had been the most worrisome wound Zhangjing saw, so he’s glad it has already mostly stopped bleeding. Now, he could clean the other parts of Yanjun’s face. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just--” Yanjun shifted and showed Zhangjing the knuckles of his right hand. They were scraped up, red and puffy. 

“Can you open and close your hand?”

Yanjun did so, slowly, biting his lip to keep from crying out. 

“Nothing’s broken?” Zhangjing asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Zhangjing hummed and began to clean the blood from Yanjun's knuckles also. It disturbed him on some level that he was becoming familiar with the process, that he could zone out a little as he tended to Yanjun's wounds.  “Can you tell me who you are?” he asked as he worked.

“Lin Yanjun.”

“And your age?”

“Seventeen.”

“And the school you go to?”

Yanjun sighed. “You Zhangjing, what’s the point of this?”

“Making sure you don’t have a concussion, or something,” Zhangjing said, finishing taping up Yanjun's knuckles and taking the other boy's chin into his hand again. He turned Yanjun’s mostly-clean face this way and that to inspect him for more injuries. The towel he’d used on Yanjun’s face was pink now, and he’d have to throw it away or else his family would ask questions. 

“Well, what’s your conclusion, Doc?” Yanjun asked, smirking slightly. That glassy look in his eyes was gone, now, which gave Zhangjing some relief.

“No concussion,” Zhangjing announced, “still a dumbass.” He huffed and turned to sit beside Yanjun against his bed, and he felt Yanjun slide down lower and lower until the younger boy could lean his head against Zhangjing’s shoulder. Zhangjing let him rest there, heart filling with worry. “What happened this time?” he asked quietly. “Was it kids? Or was it--?”

“I couldn’t go home like this,” Yanjun said quickly. “You understand.”

Zhangjing nodded, biting at his lower lip. “So you got in another fight?” A sigh was his answer. “Why? It’s so -- stupid, Yanjun. What are you trying to do? To prove?”

“It wasn't my fault.”

“Don’t tell me it’s self defense.”

“I won’t,” Yanjun said. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just keep apologizing,” Zhangjing said a little more sharply and angrily than he'd intended. He felt tears welling up in his eyes but he didn’t know what they were for. For Yanjun’s pain? For the frustration he was feeling at his friend’s nonsensical violence? For his own inability to make it stop? “I hate this,” Zhangjing continued. “I hate not knowing if you’re going to be okay.”

Yanjun said nothing. Maybe there was nothing he could say to make it right. Zhangjing put the knuckle of his index finger into this mouth, biting down to muffle his crying, and startled when he felt Yanjun take his hand to gently guide his finger away from between his lips. He said, “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Zhangjing scoffed and rolled his eyes at him, watching as Yanjun eased himself up to stand, unsteadily at first but then with more confidence and control. 

“I should go,” Yanjun said, turning to the window. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry. Thanks for -- you know.”

Zhangjing jumped up and took Yanjun by the elbow “Are you serious? You can’t leave now. You’ll fall off the fire escape, Lin Yanjun. Get back here.” Gingerly, he guided Yanjun back to the bed, only this time he helped him lie down upon it. He crawled in after Yanjun, careful not to jostle him. “You’re a jerk if you leave now. C’mon. Let’s just sleep.” 

The bed was small but neither of the boys minded. And maybe Zhangjing slept a little better knowing that Yanjun was beside him, safe for now.

.


	2. Chapter 2

Zhangjing was in the eighth grade the first time Yanjun got into a fight on the play yard behind the school. He happened upon them after choir rehearsal, hands wrapped tight around the shoulder straps of his bookbag. Two-against-one, it looked like, with Yanjun outnumbered. He remembered the dark, shadowy anger there behind Yanjun’s eyes as he watched the boys wrestle each other onto the ground, growling and going at each other like rabid dogs. It scared him.

“Lin Yanjun!” he yelled then, willing his feet to move toward his friend, but he couldn’t make himself move. His legs felt like they were made of cement. He thought Yanjun’s ears must have been made of stone, too, because he made no sign that he’d heard Zhangjing’s cry. “Hey!” he shouted again. “Stop!”

One of the boys managed to get Yanjun on his back, and he reared back his fist and clocked him right in the temple. Zhangjing couldn’t watch anymore. He willed his feet to move again, only this time in the direction of the school building. He had to find a teacher. He didn’t understand what was happening. Yanjun had seen him at lunch and had promised they could walk home together. That was all he’d been expecting this afternoon. Not this growling, wild stranger with dark eyes.

He’d found his choir teacher and brought her out with him, and though she was small and slight in stature, her presence was enough to break through the boys’ apparent need for violence. Yanjun and the other boys got detention for a week, and a note home.

On the walk back, Yanjun had been surly and quiet, kicking stray stones away with his feet, hands dug deep into his pockets.

“Why were you fighting?” Zhangjing asked. Over the past couple of weeks he’d felt and sensed something shift within his friend, a frosty quietude not unlike the way the sky was still just before a storm, but he wasn’t sure what had caused the shift, or how to change it. And now it had manifested into this. Zhangjing didn’t like it.

“It’s not important,” Yanjun mumbled, not meeting Zhangjing’s eyes. They were passing by a row of convenience stores, their bright storefronts illuminating the purplish bruising at Yanjun’s temple and the corner of his lip.

“Then you shouldn’t have been fighting,” Zhangjing accused. “You got hurt!”

“I’ll be fine,” Yanjun said with a little smirk, eyes sliding to look at Zhangjing. “Don’t you think I look pretty rugged like this?”

“You look like an idiot,” Zhangjing answered back immediately, frowning. “Not rugged at all. Just like you got kicked around a bit.”

Unfortunately for Zhangjing, though, the truth was that to him Yanjun did look a little rugged. His friend was handsome, and with the dawn of adolescence, he was just growing more so, his jawline growing sharper and his gaze piercing enough to penetrate concrete -- as well as the hearts of many girls in grades seven through nine. Zhangjing was noticing, too. And then there was also this: on more than one occasion, as they walked down the hall together at school, other students would part the way for them, like they were scared. Zhangjing knew, though, behind Yanjun’s aloof and cold exterior was someone who told stupid, silly jokes and slept with his mouth open and held Zhangjing’s hand when walking up and down the stairs because he was afraid of heights. Meanwhile, Zhangjing was still the height of most elementary school kids and still had baby fat clinging to his cheeks and stomach.

Yanjun was quiet. Closed off. Zhangjing didn’t like that either. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on behind those eyes, not when he used to be able to read Yanjun like he’d written him himself.

“Hey,” Zhangjing said, nudging Yanjun with his shoulder. “Let’s get ice cream. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Yanjun quipped.

Zhangjing flushed. “Shut up.”

“It’s okay; it’s cute,” Yanjun said, smirking again. “Let’s get ice cream, then. I don’t want to go home yet, anyway.”

Over ice cream shared on the bench outside of the convenience store, Zhangjing made Yanjun promise not to get into a fight ever again. Not unless it was over something really important.

.

“Earth to Zhangjing-ge? HelLO?” Zhangjing snapped back to focus, blinking as he reoriented himself to the task at hand. He was supposed to be practicing one of the dance numbers for the musical. Xukun and Zhengting stood on either side of him on stage in the school’s auditorium, both of them wearing matching expressions of exasperation on their faces, their hands on their hips. In front of him below the stage was Chaoze, who was gesturing wildly with his arms.

“What’s -- what are we doing? Sorry, I zoned out.” Zhangjing bit at his lip sheepishly.

“Yes, you did,” Chaoze said emphatically. “Let’s just take it from the top. This time pay attention to the beats and markings on stage, okay?”

Zhangjing nodded, determined not to let his friends and castmates down. Chaoze had worked hard, tirelessly, to choreograph each number in the musical they had chosen, _Beauty and the Beast_ , and Xukun and Zhengting both had put in a lot of work blocking out scenes. But his mind kept drifting back to a moment in time just a few hours ago, distracting him and tripping up his feet and garbling a few of his words and notes. He kept remembering the feeling and image of waking up next to Yanjun with the soft light of morning filtering in through his window, a breeze from outside carrying cool air in because he’d forgotten to close it. He’d been sleeping on Yanjun’s arm, head pillowed on his bicep. The cut above Yanjun’s eyebrow was now surrounded by blue and purple bruising. He’d touched it gently, feeling heat radiating off Yanjun’s skin under his finger that made him shrink back quickly with a gasp. Then he’d gotten up to wash his face and brush his teeth, and by the time he came back to his room, Yanjun was gone.

The other boy hadn’t shown up for school until lunch, when he came to join Zhangjing for a quick bite and chat before heading over to the yard to play some basketball with friends. He was, Zhangjing had noticed with a frown, still in the same rumpled shirt and grey jacket as last night. Which meant he hadn’t gone home at all.

“Okay,” Chaoze said loudly, turning off the music playing through the speakers he’d said up on stage. “That’s enough. You’re clearly elsewhere, space cadet,” he said, referring to Zhangjing not unkindly, who stilled as soon as the music stopped. “And it’s late. Um. Just go home and rehearse your lines, or something.”

Xukun chimed up beside him, “We’re all tired. It’s been a hard week. Why don’t we take a break and we’ll come back to it tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry,” Zhangjing said, bowing slightly. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“It’s not trouble,” Xukun said just as Zhengting laughed and said, “Chaoze’s been working us to the bone. We need the break. We should be thanking you!”

He smiled at that. Everyone was putting in so much work and effort into the musical and he hated to cause disruption, but it was true that Chaoze had been hard on them this past week to get all the moves down perfect, and it was true that Zhangjing just couldn’t focus today. With another word of thanks, he began to pack up as Chaoze and Xukun told everyone to wrap up, and the others at rehearsal followed suit. Groups of students who were rehearsing lines in the seats of the auditorium began to get up and leave as practice ended for the night. Zhangjing was still on stage with the others, just zipping up his backpack after double checking he had everything he needed with him, when he noticed a hush fall over the large room.

He looked up. Yanjun was there below the stage, gazing up at him. He smiled that sideways smile of his, and Zhangjing smiled back reflexively.

“Uh,” Zhengting said beside him, “We’ll be going, now, Ge. Get home safe, okay?”

“Okay, get home safe,” Zhangjing said, waving at Zhengting and Xukun as they exited the stage and walked down the aisle to the auditorium doors. This left him alone with Yanjun, who approached the stage slowly. The floor of the stage reached his chest, and he propped up his elbows on the stage to lean into the palm of one hand.

“Ready to go?”

“You didn’t say you were going to wait for me,” Zhangjing said.

“I felt like it,” Yanjun said with a shrug. “You don’t want my company?”

“Psh,” Zhangjing scoffed, sitting down on the edge of the stage. “Of course I do.”

He might have imagined it, but he thought he saw a pink blush spread across Yanjun’s cheeks as he held out his hand and demanded that Yanjun help him hop off the stage.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you know this fic is my guilty pleasure.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was just starting to set as they walked out of their school building, throwing a golden-orange glow over everything the light hit, from the cars to the sidewalks to Yanjun himself. He’d taken off his jacket and thrown it over one shoulder, school bag in his other hand. Zhangjing stole glances at him and couldn’t help but giggle.

Yanjun peered at him, cocking his head like a curious puppy. “What?”

“You look like a stereotypical manhwa heartthrob right now,” Zhangjing said without missing a beat, pinching Yanjun’s upper arm and finding himself disappointed when his arm was much more muscly than he’d remembered or expected.

“Heartthrob, huh?” Yanjun repeated, a soft look in his eyes.

The look made Zhangjing feel...funny. Light, like his heart had sprouted wings. He looked away and nodded. “Mmhmm,” he hummed. “Don’t let it get to your head, though,” he continued. “God knows your ego is big enough as it is.”

“I don’t have a big ego,” Yanjun protested. “And if I do, it’s your fault, anyway. Buttering me up all the time.”

Zhangjing’s mouth fell open in indignation and he turned to Yanjun and pinched his arm again. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make sure he felt it, and Yanjun laughed and shifted away from his attack, choosing in the next moment to come close again and sling his arm across Zhangjing’s shoulders. Zhangjing muttered, “I’ll stop then, since you don’t appreciate it.”

“Don’t stop,” Yanjun whined, pulling Zhangjing closer. He could feel the solid line of Yanjun’s side and chest pressed against him, and it felt good, firm and familiar. Zhangjing heard himself squeak and blushed furiously because of it. “I need it.”

“All right, all right.” Zhangjing let himself be pulled along Yanjun’s long strides as they turned the corner. They lived in different buildings but on the same block about a fifteen minute walk from the school, and they’d made this walk together before easily over a hundred times. Zhangjing liked this block the most. It was filled with small snack shops and restaurants while the next block and remaining blocks after this were barren of shops save for the occasional corner store. To the right nestled between two small noodle houses on this block was a bubble tea shop they liked to frequent, and Zhangjing automatically steered both of their bodies toward the small storefront as they neared. “Yanjun, let’s get some snacks.”

“Tea?” Yanjun asked. “Didn’t you say you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Yes, because of you,” Zhangjing retorted, watching his friend carefully for a response. They still hadn’t talked about last night, or this morning, and Zhangjing knew from experience that if he wasn’t the one to bring it up, Yanjun would blissfully ignore the topic for as long as he could.

The smile slipped from Yanjun’s face for just a moment, but was quickly replaced with a smirk that didn’t quite reach Yanjun’s eyes. “Yeah, ah,” he said, not looking at Zhangjing, though his arm was still around his shoulders, “sorry about that.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Zhangjing said quietly. “Or at least -- I mean -- _are_ you okay?”

Yanjun said, “Do you want to sit at the table outside? We should order,” and walked up to the counter to order for them both. He knew Zhangjing’s order by heart, just like Zhangjing knew his.

Reluctantly, Zhangjing let him go and turned to grab the single table that was situated just outside the store. He knew, from experience also, that pushing Yanjun to talk when he really didn’t want to only made Yanjun retreat further into himself. He watched Yanjun through the big window at the front of the shop. Yanjun’s knuckles were still taped up, and he saw how the girl behind the register glanced up a few times at the bandage above his eyebrow. He knew, to people who didn’t really know him, Yanjun looked like bad news. It didn’t help that getting to know him was as slow-going as taking apart a brick wall, molecule-by-molecule.

Zhangjing, on the other hand, was a model student, smiled as brightly as the sun (as he was told by others), and tended to trust pretty blindly. He was sure that their close friendship confused the heck out of a lot of people.

Yanjun came back with their teas, a yellow plastic straw already pierced through the lid of Zhangjing’s drink. Yanjun’s straw was blue. He sat down across from Zhangjing, his back to the front door of the shop, his eyes on the table.

“Thank you,” Zhangjing said, taking the drink from him, then taking his hand in both of his own. “Let me see…” he gestured toward Yanjun’s other hand, the one all taped up. Hesitantly, Yanjun put his hand on the table and let Zhangjing check him, let him slide his fingers across his, let him take off the tape to see what was going on underneath. “Doesn’t look as bad,” Zhangjing commented. The knuckles were still red and scraped up, but they weren’t as puffy as the night before, less angry. “What about your forehead?”

Without asking, he leaned across the table and took Yanjun’s face in his hands, cupping his cheeks and pulling him closer. He heard Yanjun sputter and protest, but his protests quickly died down as Zhangjing turned his face to the side. “It’s not as puffy,” Zhangjing declared. “So no infection. So that’s good.” He sat back down, still holding Yanjun’s face in his hands. Yanjun was looking at him with such intensity that he could feel the gaze burning through him. His eyes flickered down to Yanjun's lips, pink and full. That was a mistake. His face heated and he let go, picking up his drink and taking a long, cold sip.

Yanjun’s mouth worked open and closed a few times. “Zhangjing, I--”

A group people teenagers came out of the bubble tea shop, wearing their school’s uniform. Zhangjing recognized them as seniors, a girl and two boys who were students in his year but in a different class. His eyes met the taller boy’s in the front and he immediately regretted it, sensing what was about to happen after seeing the derisive smirk on the guy’s face.

“Ugh, queers,” the boy said under his breath, but loud enough for Zhangjing to hear. That was all he needed to say. Zhangjing’s eyes snapped to Yanjun’s to see if he’d heard, too.

He had. Yanjun's eyes were so wide he could see the whites around his irises. Quickly, Zhangjing took both of Yanjun’s hands again, even the one with his scraped knuckles, and held fast and tight as Yanjun’s body reacted. Zhangjing could tell he wanted to jump up, to yell, to _engage_ , but Zhangjing’s hold on him wouldn’t let him. After a moment, the group of students walked away, laughing to themselves, but Zhangjing didn’t watch them go. He was still watching Yanjun.

“No,” he said, when Yanjun’s body jerked again as if to follow. “Yanjun, please.”

“How can you just let that -- how?!” He looked at Zhangjing finally, anger boiling in his eyes, two spots of red high up on his cheekbones. He looked murderous. Zhangjing’s knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding onto him.

“You just have to,” Zhangjing said. “Please, Yanjun. Don’t make a scene. Don’t get involved. Just ignore them. They’re already gone.”

“But they’re not gone,” Yanjun said almost pitifully. “They go to our school. You’ll see them tomorrow. And they’ll -- they’ll keep--”

“I don’t care about them,” Zhangjing said calmly. “I care about you.” That made Yanjun gasp and freeze. For a moment, neither of them breathed, and then Yanjun blinked. And slowly, Zhangjing watched the anger ebb from the younger boy with every breath he took, so he loosened his hold on Yanjun’s wrists, apologizing for holding on so tightly. “You good?” he asked him.

Yanjun laughed a little uncomfortably and without humor. Almost a full minute passed of Yanjun wringing his hands, shifting his gaze from the sky to the table to the ground, back to Zhangjing, before he said, “You’re asking _me_ that? I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Are you -- are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Zhangjing said quietly, and it wasn’t a lie. He would be fine, eventually, after going home and boxing this experience away by letting himself have a good cry in the shower. “But I don’t really want this tea anymore.”

Yanjun nodded and, with Zhangjing watching with his brows furrowed in confusion, took both of their teas and stalked over to the trash can, throwing them away dramatically. “We should get something else to eat, then,” he suggested. “Want to?”

Zhangjing grinned. They still had a good hour of daylight to burn, at least. “Do you really have to ask?”

.


	4. Chapter 4

Things fell back into rhythm over the next few weeks. Zhangjing went to school, had lunch with his friends from musical theater, went to rehearsal, and then more often than not, he walked home with Yanjun and they'd stop for treats along the way. Sometimes Yanjun would stay over for a little bit and they’d catch up watching TV or funny videos on YouTube. Sometimes he’d stay over for dinner. Over the weekends, Zhangjing would attend his vocal training class at a music academy downtown and meet up with Xukun and Zhengting after, as both of them coincidentally took dance classes nearby. On some weekends, Xukun would drag along Ziyi, a student at their school that Zhangjing had seen and heard of but never really spoken with -- all he knew about Ziyi before Xukun started to bring him along was that he sometimes played basketball with Yanjun and others during lunch -- and the four of them would hang around the park or eat or shop until it was dangerously close to curfew.

Well, dangerously close to Zhangjing’s curfew. He didn’t think Xukun or Ziyi had curfews they needed to abide by.

Tonight, they decided to get dinner together at an all-you-can-eat hot pot restaurant near the music academy where Zhangjing trained. He loved hot pot. The whole restaurant, when they entered, was clouded over in the thick aroma of the spicy, savory stew, and Zhangjing inhaled greedily. He was already salivating by the time they were seated. Each of the tables had at least two pots built into the surface of the table for different kinds of broths, and to one side there was a buffet of fresh vegetables and a dipping sauce station for diners to make their own sauces.

Briefly, he wondered what Yanjun was having for dinner tonight, wishing he’d thought to invite the other boy. But then he took a look around the table, and thought again. Xukun and Zhengting, who were sitting across from each other, weren’t unkind to Yanjun, but they weren’t necessarily warm, either. It was like they didn’t know how to act around him. Ziyi was sitting next to Xukun, and he at least, would probably welcome Yanjun with a fist-bump and cool nod.

They ordered their first round of meats and dumplings for the spicy hot pot broth that was starting to bubble in the center of their table, and as they were waiting for their food to arrive, Zhengting leaned to him conspiratorially and asked, apropos nothing, “So what’s up with you and Lin Yanjun?”

Zhangjing turned to him sharply. “What?”

“What’s up?” Zhengting asked again, eyes glittering and lips curling into a grin, “Between you and Leng Yanjun?”

 _Leng Yanjun_ , Zhangjing thought. Cold Yanjun. He hated that nickname, if only because he knew just how warm Yanjun could be. He shrugged at Zhengting and pursed his lips. “Nothing? He’s my friend.”

“Uh huh,” Zhengting said, like he was obliging a little kid of some white lie. “Sure thing. My friends walk me home from school every day and bring me treats at lunch, too.”

“We live on the same block,” Zhangjing said. “We’ve been friends forever. He just knows me really well.”

“You know, when I first saw him...and for a really long time after, I just thought he was this scary, tough guy,” Zhengting confessed to him, leaning in close again. “But these past few weeks, he’s been...sweet. To you.”

“He’s always like that,” Zhangjing said, confused as to why Zhengting would point it out. Yanjun has always been kind and sweet and thoughtful to Zhangjing. And Zhangjing always tried to be the same in return. It wasn’t anything new. “What’s your point?”

“Ah.” Zhengting sat up straight again. His eyes were still glittering and it gave Zhangjing the distinct feeling that he knew something Zhangjing didn’t. “Nothing, I guess. Forget I said anything.”

“Stop being weird,” Zhangjing said to his friend. “Xukun will notice and fret over you.”

They both looked over at Xukun, who was not noticing anything outside of the dipping sauce that Ziyi had made for him at the sauce station. “You put too much peanut butter in it!” he was saying, laughing, hitting Ziyi’s shoulder. He was blushing. Ziyi was blushing, too.

Ziyi said, “I thought you liked it.”

“Yeah, but like, a proportional amount of peanut butter, please. Okay, now my turn.” Xukun got up to go to the sauce station, and Zhangjing and Zhengting watched Ziyi watching him go. Ziyi definitely kept his gaze on Xukun for longer than necessary. When he turned around back to the table, it was to see the two friends grinning at him knowingly.

“What?” he asked in that quiet, centered way of his. “We’re just making each other the sauces as a surprise.”

“Oh, nothing,” Zhengting said. “I’m just surrounded by idiots. Goodie, the food is here.” He clapped as the waiter put down platters of the meats and dumplings they ordered.

.

Lunch time at school has always been Zhangjing’s favorite time of the day. Not only did he get to eat, but he got to catch up with his friends, and usually Yanjun, too. Since they were in different grades, it was one of the few times their schedules overlapped. So that Monday, as he was scanning the benches in the cafeteria for a place to sit, he was thinking about what he wanted to tell Yanjun about his weekend. He definitely wanted to tell him about hot pot, because the restaurant had been so good and he really wanted to go there with Yanjun next. He wanted to tell him about his vocal lesson and how his teacher had said he’d improved. He wanted to tell him about how they went to the park after dinner and watched the sunset and it had been so pretty and he wished Yanjun had been there too because he thought Yanjun needed more pretty, peaceful things in his life.

He sat at a mostly empty bench with his homemade lunch and was quickly joined by Xukun and Zhengting, who brought along some of his juniors who were in the musical also, Justin and Chengcheng. There were some quick lunch trades that happened before Zhangjing could even register they were happening, and then suddenly it was halfway through the period, and he realized there had been no sign of Yanjun.

A shadow fell over the table. Zhangjing looked up hopefully, but it wasn’t Yanjun. It was the senior from his grade from a few weeks ago, the one outside the bubble tea shop. Zhangjing finally remembered his name: Wufan.

Wufan put his palms on the table and leaned into Zhangjing’s space. Zhangjing’s friends took notice, and their conversations came to a halt. It was quiet around their table, but no where else.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Wufan asked, turning up his nose at Zhangjing and looking down at him. Zhangjing felt his eyebrow twitch, but he refused to go down to this other senior’s level.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zhangjing grit through his teeth, his fingers starting to cramp from holding his chopsticks so tightly.

The guy didn’t get the message. “You know, the other queer,” Wufan said, then looked over the rest of the table, smirking. “Or wait, is this a table full of you guys?”

Movement out of the corner of Zhangjing’s eye. His eyes snapped to where Xukun was standing with lightning sparking behind his eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said--”

“Is there a problem here?” A familiar, subdued voice cut through the tension. Ziyi was there, standing almost on top of the senior, so that when the senior stood up straight to face him they were nearly chest to chest. But Ziyi was tall, and didn’t budge. The senior grimaced at the close contact and took a small step back. Ziyi crossed his arms in front of his chest. “This guy giving you trouble?”

“He’s just going around saying stupid things,” Xukun said, sitting back down. “He can’t help it because he’s stupid.”

Ziyi stared Wufan down, the tension between them rising. Behind Ziyi were two other guys that Zhangjing had seen around before, usually playing basketball with the others during lunch. Yanjun’s friends, he thought. It was strange, now that he’d thought it, how separate their worlds had become, and how he’d never even considered growing closer with them. Just when the tension was so thick Zhangjing thought that certainly someone would be throwing a punch in the next second, Wufan stepped back again, shaking his head.

“Just tell your boyfriend he’s a chicken shit,” he said, shoving his way past Ziyi and the two other guys.

Ziyi stood tall for a moment, and then visibly deflated, leaning against the table. “Shit,” he said to himself. Then to the others, “You all okay?” He was looking at Zhangjing first, but then he was looking past him, at Xukun.

“Yeah,” Zhangjing answered for the group, still holding onto his chopsticks too tightly. “Thanks for that.”

“What an idiot, though,” Zhengting said. His arm was around both Justin and Chengcheng -- somehow his reach was long enough -- and the two younger boys huddled underneath him like baby chicks. “Thanks for stepping in. What did he want?”

“Yanjun,” Zhangjing whispered, looking down at his lunch and pushing his platter away. He’d lost his appetite. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Nongnong, have you seen him today?” Ziyi asked one of the boys behind him. “He’s in the same class as Yanjun,” Ziyi explained to the others.

The taller, lankier one spoke up, shaking his head. He said, “No, I haven’t. He sometimes shows up after lunch, though, so…”

“I’ll text him,” Zhangjing said, pulling out his phone from his pants pocket. He looked at the screen, half-hoping to see that Yanjun had already messaged him instead. But there was nothing, just a couple of notifications for some blogs he followed, and a message from his mom reminding him to pick up some bread from the bakery on his way home.

 _ <<Where are you? Are you coming to school today?>> _ he sent.

No response. He slid his phone back into his pocket after making sure notifications were on vibrate.

The others didn’t seem as worried. Xukun rose again, this time holding his lunch tray, and asked hopefully, “Are you going to play outside?”

Ziyi nodded. “You want to join?”

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

Xukun went to return his tray and bounded back to the table quickly. He left with Ziyi and the two other boys.

“That guy was an asshole. I’m sure Yanjun's fine,” Zhengting said next to him, watching Zhangjing carefully. He nodded at Zhangjing’s food. “You should eat a little more, okay?”

Zhangjing nodded his thanks. He managed a few more bites before the continued absence of a notification from his phone made it too difficult for him to swallow.

.

At the end of rehearsal, the older members stayed behind to help clean up the auditorium. They’d used some of the props today, so there were a lot of random items and toys they needed to gather up and put away. It was a mindless task that Zhangjing appreciated, because it kept his brain from thinking about Yanjun, if only for a few minutes. When they were done, he, Xukun, and Zhengting were the only ones left, again.

“You can go ahead,” Zhangjing said, sitting down in one of the chairs in the auditorium. It squeaked as the hinges worked. “I’m going to wait a little bit.”

“For Yanjun?” Xukun asked. “Did he ever respond to you?”

Zhangjing frowned and took out his phone again, checking his notifications. Nothing. He tried to hide the anxiety and worry he was feeling from his face. It wasn’t like Yanjun to ignore him. Not at all. “No,” he said a little shakily. “But maybe he’s just been busy.”

He didn’t miss the way Xukun and Zhengting looked at each other. They both stood in front of him, their bags on their shoulders already. “We can wait with you for a little bit,” Zhengting offered. “Don’t want to leave you here alone, you know.”

Zhangjing forced a grin onto his face, showing it to them. “I’ll be fine! Seriously. You shouldn’t stay any longer than you have to. I’ll just wait a few minutes and if he doesn’t come, I’ll go.”

“By yourself?” Zhengting asked.

Zhangjing shrugged. Zhengting and Xukun looked at each other again.

“What if that guy shows up?” Xukun asked. “From lunch?”

“I can take care of myself,” Zhangjing protested, affronted by the way they both scanned him then with their gaze.

“Honey,” Zhengting said, clucking his tongue. “Just send Lin Yanjun another text saying you’re walking home with us. He’ll understand.”

Zhangjing squirmed a little in his seat. “I don’t know, I think I should wait.” Just then, the doors to the auditorium opened. Zhangjing turned around swiftly in his seat, heart skipping hopefully in his chest. A silhouette appeared in the door, and then the shadow stepped into light.

It was Ziyi and -- Nongnong? They walked down one of the aisles to them. They weren't wearing their uniforms, and instead were in t-shirts and gym shorts. “You guys still here?” Ziyi asked. “Want to head out together?”

“Sure!” Xukun said quickly. "What are you still doing here?" He flinched when Zhengting glared at him, and then said, “Oh, and did Yanjun ever show up?”

"We had basketball," Ziyi said. "Season's starting up again."

“Yanjun didn't show up. But he skips sometimes. And...it’s Monday,” Nongnong explained, trying to be helpful.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Zhangjing asked. There was a hint of defensiveness in his voice that he didn’t like, and he swallowed, trying to reign it back in.

Nongnong shrugged and smiled. He had a goofy sort of smile that made him look like a puppy waiting to be pet. “It’s just -- no one really likes Mondays, right?”

“Sure, guy,” Zhengting said in a dry tone that made it clear he was humoring him. “Well, he’s not here, Zhangjing-ge. So let’s go, hm?”

They were right, unfortunately. Zhangjing sent Yanjun another text as he rose to leave with the group.

_ <<Lin Yanjun, answer me! You’re not ignoring me, are you?>> _

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note i don't normally update this quickly lol. i'm just on vacation...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the abuse tag/trigger comes into play in this chapter

The sky broke open on the way back home, rain falling in sheets onto the pavement. Zhangjing was soaked by the time he reached his apartment, and shivered all the way directly into the bathroom, stripping off his uniform and jumping right into a hot, steaming shower before dinner with his parents.

His mother had made a delicious pork dish that Zhangjing had loved since he was little, and this he ate with rice, vegetables, and a tall glass of water. His parents asked him about school, and the musical, and Zhangjing told them that everything was great, leaving out the part about Wufan at lunch. They didn’t need to know or worry about that.

After dinner, Zhangjing went down the hall to his room to get started on his homework. He sat at his little desk in the corner of his bedroom for the rest of the night, catching up on math, and science, and literature, and history. When he looked at his phone again as he was finishing up, he saw that it was already nearing eleven o’clock at night, and there was still no sign of Yanjun’s response.

He frowned at the screen of his phone and pulled up his messages, thinking maybe there had been a mistake somewhere. Maybe Yanjun had messaged him, and he didn’t get a notification? But no, his most recent messages from Yanjun dated back to two days ago, when he was telling him he was on his way to his vocal lesson over the weekend. Chewing on his bottom lip, Zhangjing held his phone with both hands, willing a message to come through.

Nothing happened.

So he typed into the message box instead, hoping at least that Yanjun was reading his messages: _ <<I hope you’re okay. When you want to talk, I’m here.>> _

Then he took a deep breath, and began putting his books away, back into his bookbag to prepare for the next day. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, examining his face in the mirror. Same puffy cheeks and little button nose. The shirt he was wearing to sleep hung a little looser on him than it did a few weeks ago, showing a peek of his collarbones. “Don’t diet too much,” Yanjun had told him once, when Zhangjing told him of his plan to lose weight for the musical. “I like you the way you are.”

Zhangjing spat into the sink and washed the toothpaste foam down with water. “Psh,” Zhangjing said to himself, watching his own expressions in the mirror. “Who does he think he is, saying things like that?”

He strut back to his room when he was done in the bathroom, saying goodnight to his parents in passing and closing his bedroom door behind him. He shut off his light and crawled under the covers of his bed. It was still pouring out. He could hear the rain falling heavily, like a drumroll, and it was to this white noise that Zhangjing shut his eyes and prepared to sleep.

And then came a knock at his window.

Zhangjing’s eyes flew open. Or had that just been the rain and wishful thinking? He strained his ears to listen, and after a few seconds, two more knocks sounded against the glass, quieter than before but definitely there. Quickly, Zhangjing rolled out of bed and to the window, throwing it open. Rain splashed against the sill and into his face and shirt and arms, and the drumroll of the rainfall turned into a cacophonous roar. “Yanjun?” he called out into the night.

Yanjun was both there and not there. Physically, he was sitting on Zhangjing’s fire escape, hugging his knees. His hair was plastered to his skull and his clothes -- a thin black tank and sweats that hugged his ankles -- were completely soaked and sticking to him everywhere. Zhangjing could make out a bruise blossoming across the left side of Yanjun’s face, starting from his eye and sharp browbone and fanning across his cheek. His eyes were dark, fixed to a spot on the fire escape near Zhangjing’s open window. He didn’t seem to care that he was soaked and that the rain wasn’t letting up. He didn’t seem to care about anything. Zhangjing had never seen Yanjun so blank before, with no light behind his eyes like there was nothing inside. It terrified him.

“Yanjun,” Zhangjing said again, softer this time. “Yanjun, can you hear me?”

He didn’t respond, stayed motionless, and Zhangjing bit the inside of his cheek to keep from growing hysterical. “Please come inside, Yanjun. You’ll get sick like this.”

Zhangjing reached out with a hand, slowly. The whole front of his shirt was soaked by now from the rain blowing in through the window, but he didn’t care. When he touched Yanjun’s arm, the other boy flinched back violently, blinking. It seemed to break whatever trance he’d been in, though, because he finally saw Zhangjing in front of him, registering that he was there. He moved now, towards Zhangjing and the window, and gestured for Zhangjing to move back, so Zhangjing did, even though every single atom in his body wanted to move forward and help Yanjun. He couldn’t stop himself for putting out his hands when Yanjun slipped forward on the slippery surface because of the rain, but the younger boy managed to catch himself on the sill and eased himself inside, before simply collapsing onto the ground.

Zhangjing didn’t even care if the noise had woken up his parents. He shut the window but Yanjun protested. “My b-bag,” he said, through chattering teeth. Zhangjing opened the window again, sticking his head out and seeing the bag Yanjun was talking about, a small black duffel. He dragged that inside, and closed the window again.

“What happened?” Zhangjing asked, very nearly throwing the bag to the ground as the whirlwind of emotions inside of him caught up to him. Anger and shock and surprise and worry all battled to reach the surface. Groaning, Yanjun pushed himself up to sitting, leaning back against the bookcase under the window. He hissed at the shelves pressing against his spine. “Was it another fight?” Zhangjing continued, feeling the questions spill out of his mouth like oil. “What are you doing here? Why did you ignore my messages? Where were you all day?”

Yanjun held up a hand and winced, closing his eyes against Zhangjing’s barrage of questions. “Can you -- stop? Please.”

“Stop?!” Zhangjing very nearly yelled, putting his hands on his hips. Yanjun physically recoiled, knocking himself back against the shelves accidentally and groaning again. Immediately, Zhangjing softened and kneeled down onto the floor with him, hand reaching out to cup the back of Yanjun’s head, but Yanjun recoiled from that, too, knocking into the shelves again and cursing.

“I’m sorry!” Yanjun said defensively when Zhangjing's mouth fell open in dismay. “I’m jumpy. I’m sorry.”

“Yanjun,” Zhangjing tried again more gently, feeling the burn start in his chest and rise until it was pushing at the backs of his eyes. But he wouldn’t cry. Not yet. “What happened? Why do you keep getting yourself into these fights?”

“I didn’t,” Yanjun said, not looking at Zhangjing.

“You show up half dead on my fire escape and keep expecting me to take care of you, and you don’t tell me anything. How is that fair?”

“It’s not.”

“But you keep doing it anyway. I don’t know what to think--”

“It was my dad,” Yanjun said, still not looking at Zhangjing. “This time. Some other times, too.” His shoulders were tense, nearly touching his ears, and his gaze was unfocused and wavering. And then, his shoulders began to shake, and he finally looked at Zhangjing and Zhangjing’s heart shattered into a million pieces at the open, raw expression on Yanjun's face. “I’m so sorry, _Ge_ , I just didn’t know where else to go.” Yanjun’s cries were sudden, forced out of him in great, heaving breaths. He hugged his knees to his chest again, the tears mixing with the rain rolling down his cheeks. He cried like a dam that had been broken, spilling and spilling and spilling, all the pain pouring out now that he’d tried so hard to hide. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“Stop apologizing,” Zhangjing whispered, but Yanjun didn’t heed him, still muttering apologies for something that wasn’t his fault, breaths coming out so hard and fast Zhangjing worried he was on the verge of hyperventilating. Zhangjing took a deep, shuddering breath, and held out his hand again. “I’m glad you came, okay? It’s okay. Can I hold you for a little bit?”

Yanjun tensed again, but then he nodded, so Zhangjing curled himself around Yanjun’s body and let the younger boy fall against him. They were both absolutely soaked and Yanjun was still shivering as he cried, even when Zhangjing tried rubbing a comforting palm over his back in circles. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, as his knees began to ache from the position he was in, but he wouldn’t move, not until Yanjun was ready. He found himself carding his fingers through Yanjun’s wet hair, and before he realized he was doing it, he was singing softly, an old ballad they both liked when they were children.

Yanjun’s cries began to transform into little whines and hiccuping breaths, and Zhangjing rocked them both back and forth, coaxing him to calm further. It seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe it was, because eventually, Yanjun stilled, his breath stabilizing.

They stayed curled together on the floor for a few more moments longer, just resting against each other, until Zhangjing felt Yanjun shivering again. “We should get you into dry clothes, hm?” he asked. “Do you want to take a quick shower?”

Yanjun nodded again. It seemed that he’d used up all his words for the night.

“You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in,” Zhangjing said. “They’ll be a little small but...Yanjun, your bag is soaked so I doubt you can wear anything in there.”

A scoff followed by a soft laugh. Zhangjing stroked his fingers through Yanjun’s hair again. “Ready to get up?” Another nod. “Okay.” They stood, Zhangjing keeping a hand at the ready as Yanjun swayed, but once he was up he seemed steady-ish on his feet. Still, he walked with Yanjun to the bathroom, just in case. He turned around as Yanjun started to peel the still-wet clothes from his body in front of the sink. “Keep the door unlocked, okay?” Zhangjing said through the crack in the bathroom door, seeing a flash of tan skin discolored by more bruising. He swallowed back his questions about what he saw. He’d ask later. He had a _lot_ of questions.

While Yanjun was in the bathroom, Zhangjing went to the linen closet and brought out some extra towels. He laid those on the floor near the window, where they’d held each other, so that the towels could soak up the water there. Then with another towel, he wiped himself down and dried himself off, changing into another set of clothes he could sleep in. For Yanjun, he rifled through his drawers for his biggest t-shirt and a pair of sweats that had always been a little long on him, and brought them to the bathroom.

He checked the door. It was still unlocked. He opened it, and put the clothes on the sink counter, mindful not to get an eyeful of the boy in the shower. Then he ran back into his room and sat up in bed with just his bedside table light on, unsure why his heart was racing the way it was.

He waited for Yanjun to be finished, and then remembered that the typical length of time that Yanjun spent in the shower was, on average, an hour and a half. He smacked himself in the forehead and hoped that Yanjun had heard him say “quick” before.

He had so many questions. Where had Yanjun been all day? What happened with his dad? Why did his dad hurt him? How often? How long had Yanjun been hiding this? How did Zhangjing never see, or rather, how could he have let it go on for so long? Because he knew. Deep down, a part of him had known since they were in middle school and Yanjun changed. But Yanjun had tried to hide it so well, and for so long, and Zhangjing had played his part also, hiding it with him. Turning his face away when he saw bruises on Yanjun's face and body that hadn't been there before from one of his school yard fights. He hugged one of his extra pillows to his chest and pressed his face into the cushion, muffling a scream. Angry tears squeezed their way out of his eyes. He was so stupid. How could he call himself Yanjun’s friend?

The door creaked open. Yanjun stood there, looking uncertain, wearing Zhangjing’s old camp t-shirt and a pair of sweats that still only reached mid-calf on Yanjun’s longer legs. The bruise across his face was shiny.

“Oh, Yanjun,” Zhanjing said when he looked up, seeing the way Yanjun took a tiny step back. He reached out a hand. “Come here, please.”

Yanjun went to him, like a kitten approaching a stranger, watching Zhangjing warily.

“I won’t hurt you,” Zhangjing promised.

“I know,” Yanjun whispered, finally sitting on Zhangjing’s bed. His voice was scratchy and worn from crying, and his eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. “It’s just habit.”

Zhangjing shifted down under his covers and over to the side, patting the space beside him. “Come on,” Zhangjing said with a small grin. “It’ll be like when we were kids.”

The mattress dipped as Yanjun laid down beside him, their knees barely touching under the covers. This close, Zhangjing could see how Yanjun’s eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks when he blinked, could trace the sharp line of his nose down to the philtrum above his lip. “Can you sleep?” Zhangjing whispered. This close, his voice felt like it was a secret shared just between the two of them.

“Don’t know,” Yanjun admitted, biting at his lower lip.

“Try,” Zhangjing said. “I can sing again, if that helps?”

The other boy nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Zhangjing opened his mouth, and he began to sing.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone reading and leaving kudos/comments so far. ilu all <3


	6. Chapter 6

Zhangjing woke suddenly, squinting against the light streaming in through his curtains, which he’d left often last night. He tried to roll away from the sun filtering in to bury himself under his blanket for a few more minutes of sleep but was halted by a solid, warm presence in his bed. He looked down. Yanjun’s face was pressed against Zhangjing’s chest, his arm draped heavily over Zhangjing’s middle. He was hugging the smaller boy like Zhangjing was his personal teddy bear.

A soft, radiant warmth washed through Zhangjing’s body, seeing Yanjun sleeping peacefully like this. He’d been through so much. Zhangjing reached up with his hand and gently brushed away the dark hair that swept across Yanjun’s forehead, revealing a small, silvery scar above his eyebrow that was all that remained of the wound Zhangjing had helped bandage up a few weeks ago. Yanjun’s hair was soft, and he smelled like strawberries from the body wash he must have used in Zhangjing’s bathroom. He ran the pad of his thumb over the scar, caressing it, cupping Yanjun’s cheek when the touch made his eyelashes flutter.

It didn’t feel strange to be this close to him. It felt natural, and right, and like maybe he should always be this close to Yanjun. He could keep him safe.

Yanjun opened his eyes, sleepy, disoriented, and -- dare Zhangjing think it? -- cute. His face was a little puffy, both from the bruise and from crying, and he looked young. He _was_ young, Zhangjing remembered. They both were.

“Good morning,” Zhangjing whispered brightly, flashing Yanjun a smile. Yanjun grumbled something unintelligible and closed his eyes, burying his face against Zhangjing’s chest again. Zhangjing chuckled, moving his hand to rest behind Yanjun’s shoulders instead. “Not a morning person,” Zhangjing recalled aloud. “But you need to wake up. We have to...figure out what to do next.” Like call the police, Zhangjing thought to himself. Get help. Anything. “And I still have so many questions.”

Yanjun shifted against him, still hiding his face. “Head hurts,” he whined. “Later.”

“Not later,” Zhangjing said. “I have to go to school.”

“Skip,” Yanjun said. Zhangjing could feel his breath against his chest. It tickled.

“Only if we go to the police station,” Zhangjing said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Or tell someone. My parents.”

Yanjun’s arm tightened around Zhangjing, and Zhangjing noticed after a second that Yanjun had stopped breathing. “No,” Yanjun said. He let out his breath slowly. “No police.”

“Why not?” Zhangjing asked. “They can help, they can--”

“I’ve gone to them before,” Yanjun said simply. He didn’t say anything more, and Zhangjing filled in the rest. He went to them before, and they did nothing. He went to them before, and they turned him away. “And if my dad found out, he’d break my legs.”

Zhangjing didn’t want to think about if he was exaggerating or not. So he held him a little tighter and said, “Fine, no police. But if you’re going to stay, we need to tell my parents something, at least.”

“So...I can stay?”

“Isn’t that why you brought your bag, silly?” He felt Yanjun nod against his chest. “Where were you yesterday, anyway?”

“The park,” Yanjun said. “He kicked me out after, well -- he kicked me out so I packed some things. I sat in the park for a while. Wandered. It started to rain.”

“It rained for a long time before you showed up,” Zhangjing said, frowning. “You should have just come by when I came home from school.”

“I…” Yanjun started, curling up tighter. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” Zhangjing asked. “Why’d he kick you out anyway?” Yanjun didn't answer, his back rising and falling in slow, steady breaths under Zhangjing's palm. "Yanjun?" Zhangjing urged gently.

“Zhangjing,” Yanjun said, begged. “Please.”

“You don’t want to tell me?”

Yanjun didn’t answer again, but Zhangjing could feel a wetness form at his chest, and knew Yanjun was crying quietly, probably hoping Zhangjing wouldn’t notice. He wouldn’t push now. Yanjun was slowly letting go of his secrets, one at a time, releasing them into the world like butterflies he’d kept in a cage in his chest, and Zhangjing could only imagine how hard it was to let go of the things he’d protected for so long, so fiercely. He rubbed Yanjun’s back again and whispered, “Okay. It’s okay. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

.

The plan was for Zhangjing to get ready for school as usual. Zhangjing’s dad left the apartment a little before Zhangjing did, and he knew his mom would leave a little after. Neither would be home until the late afternoon, and during this time Yanjun could shower, eat, and leave the apartment. Zhangjing left it up to Yanjun whether or not he would show up to school. Of course, Zhangjing wanted him to, but he could understand if Yanjun needed more time on his own.

Zhangjing told Ziyi at lunch that Yanjun was sick, who told Nongnong -- whose name was actually Linong, Zhangjing learned over lunch that day -- so that he could collect any assignments Yanjun had missed yesterday and would miss today.

Then Yanjun was supposed to meet Zhangjing near the bubble tea shop after school and rehearsal to walk home with him, which he did, dressed in his rumpled school uniform even though he hadn’t attended today.

“Ready?” Zhangjing asked when they reached his front door.

Yanjun shifted his weight from foot to foot, biting at his lower lip, but eventually he nodded, and Zhangjing opened the door.

His mother was already setting the table for dinner since it was late, and his father was watching television in the living room.

“Mom, dad?” Zhangjing called out into the apartment, stepping out of his shoes and leaving them by the front door. Behind him, Yanjun did the same. “Yanjun is going to join us for dinner, okay?”

“Lin Yanjun?” His mother piped up, putting the last of the dishes out on the table and grinning. “Sure, honey. I’ll get another bowl. Good thing I made too much food!”

“You always make too much food,” Zhangjing heard his dad say from the living room.

“Pshaw,” his mom said in response, and Zhangjing couldn’t help but grin at his parents’ banter.

“C’mon, let’s sit,” he said to Yanjun, tugging at his sleeve and guiding him to the dining table that was in the small space adjacent to the kitchen. Yanjun followed him, quiet and nervous, but he sat.

“Yanjun, sweetie, do you want some milk?” Zhangjing’s mother asked. The beverage was what she always liked to offer Zhangjing and his friends, encouraging them to drink it so they could grow up big and strong. Zhangjing had never had the heart to correct her of her misconception. She came by with two glasses of milk anyway without waiting for a response and set them down in front of the boys, and then she looked at Yanjun and gasped. “Oh, my — what happened!” Her fingers gestured to her own face, her cheekbone and eye, and then she rushed over, taking Yanjun's chin into her hand and turning his face so better assess the damage.

“I,” Yanjun said haltingly, looking at Zhangjing quickly. Zhangjing nodded encouragingly. “I got into a fight, Ms. You.” 

"Are you okay? Do your parents know? Were there other kids involved?"

"Mom," Zhangjing interjected, pulling at her elbow so she'd let go of Yanjun's face. She did so, reluctantly, tutting at Yanjun like he was her own son. "Um, Yanjun's parents know. And they're really upset. I was thinking Yanjun could stay over for a few days...until things are better."

His mother looked at Zhangjing, deep into his eyes, squinting and piercing through him. He was convinced she knew he was lying to her. He hated lying, and he hated lying to his parents more. His mother brought her phone out of her pocket. In the living room, Zhangjing heard his father turn off the television, and then he was beside his wife, looking at Yanjun also.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Zhangjing asked, watching her unlock the screen of her phone.

“Calling Yanjun’s mom,” she said. “I know I still have her contact somewhere…She should know where her son is staying, at least.”

Zhangjing looked at Yanjun, who had turned pale and white as a sheet, all the blood drained from his face. Zhangjing stood up, the legs of the chair he was sitting in scraping against the floor loudly and startling his parents. “Don’t,” he told his mother. “Please?”

His mother paused. “What? Why?”

“Don’t call his parents,” Zhangjing said. “Or anyone. Please -- he just needs somewhere to stay a few days and I thought, I thought he could stay with us. Until things cool down at home. Please?”

The phone was still in her hands. His father laid his hand over her wrist and gently lowered it, and she turned to glare at him. “Let’s just eat,” he said calmly, watching the boys. “The food will get cold. Let’s eat and talk about this later, okay?”

Zhangjing sat again. His parents moved around the table and sat, also. Underneath the table, Zhangjing found Yanjun’s hand, and held it tight.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting serious...

Dinner was quiet, the conversation stilted in the thick blanket of awkwardness and uncertainty hanging over the table that night. Their dining table seated four people comfortably, and Zhangjing sat directly across from his mother, between Yanjun and his father. He looked over many times throughout the meal to see that Yanjun had stopped eating and was staring blankly at something in his bowl or was moving the food around with his chopsticks. The older boy would nudge him with his foot under the table to get him moving again, and his mother would ask, “Yanjun, do you want more of anything?” And Yanjun would apologize, and say the food was delicious, and shovel another bite into his mouth.

Finally, just to liven up the strange atmosphere, Zhangjing rambled on about the musical. It was going well, he told his parents, even though Chaoze was working them to the bone on the choreography. The music director for the school stopped by the other day to observe rehearsal and said that Zhangjing had improved a lot in his role, and he felt confident in the cast for their first show that was coming up in a few weeks.

“We can’t wait to see it, dear,” Zhangjing’s mom said with a sweet smile. “We’ll be in the front row cheering for you, with signs!”

“Please don’t do that.” Zhangjing laughed, imagining his mother in the aisle of the auditorium waving around a sign with his face on it, his father in his seat pretending like he didn’t know her. “That would be so embarrassing, Mom.”

“That’s what parents are for,” she retorted with a wink. “Yanjun, will you be seeing the musical?”

Zhangjing looked at him. He had zoned out again, chopsticks still in hand.

“Yanjun,” his mother repeated. She reached out and put her hand over his, and Zhangjing should have warned her. He should have gotten Yanjun’s attention himself. The reaction was immediate, and suddenly the chopsticks were flying back and Yanjun’s bowl was clattering on the table, overturned, and there was rice all over Yanjun’s lap and some in his hair and scattered on the floor.

His mother jumped back in her seat at the noise, hand over her heart, her eyes wide.

“Mom!” Zhangjing called, at the same time Yanjun said, “Auntie!”

His mother recovered quickly, chuckling a little uncomfortably to herself as she fanned her face with her hand. “Oh, it's okay, that just scared me a bit,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Yanjun said quickly, panicked. He stood up, his movements jerky as he bowed to her. “I’ll clean up. I’m so sorry.” He fell to his knees and began to pick up the rice with his fingers as Zhangjing’s parents looked on, the expression on his mother’s face one of confusion and concern, his father’s expression unreadable.

“It’s okay,” his mom said. “No, we’ll get a rag. I shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

His father went into the kitchen presumably to fetch a rag. Yanjun was still on his knees, frantically trying to gather up the sticky grains of rice, so Zhangjing joined him on the ground, putting his hand on Yanjun’s back and rubbing slowly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Hey, c’mon. It’s fine. Stop that.” He reached for Yanjun’s hands and gathered them into his, feeling how Yanjun’s fingers trembled and shook. “You’re okay.”

He could feel his parents watching, but he didn’t care. He said, “Take a big breath, Yanjun,” and squeezed his fingers slightly, encouraging him to follow his words. Yanjun did so, his first breath coming out shakily, the second more steadily, and the third, finally smooth. Yanjun’s fingers were no longer trembling, so Zhangjing let go of one hand, and inched it toward Yanjun’s face. “You’ve got,” he said, gesturing. “Rice.” He plucked one grain that was stuck to Yanjun’s cheek from his skin.

Yanjun looked at him with glistening eyes, like Zhangjing was water after days spent in the desert. There was still rice in his hair. “Maybe you should go to the bathroom to clean up the rest,” Zhangjing suggested. “It’s everywhere.”

“A-Are you sure? I should help clean...”

His father came around the table and stood there with a kitchen rag. “Go on,” he said to Yanjun, inclining his head in the direction of the bathroom down the hall. “Don’t worry about this, boys.”

Yanjun stood, and Zhangjing followed him to his feet.

“I’m sorry again, Auntie,” Yanjun said, swallowing. “The food was really good and I’m sorry I wasted so much of it.”

“It’s okay, Yanjun. It was an accident,” his mother said kindly, like she was talking to a little kid. “Really. Go wash up, okay?”

Yanjun nodded. He seemed reluctant to leave, but in the end he turned to go, leaving Zhangjing in the dining room alone with his parents.

.

Zhangjing helped his dad clean up the mess on the floor and seat while his mom cleared away the dishes and platters from dinner. Soon, it was like nothing had happened, the surfaces of the table and chairs cleaned and spotless. But then Zhangjing noticed the look that was shared between his parents when they were done. Zhangjing knew that look, and was already sitting back down at the dining table as his mother said, “Zhangjing, we need to talk about this.”

Zhangjing looked over his shoulder forlornly down the hall. The bathroom door was closed and he could hear the water running from the shower. His parents sat down at the table, too, though this time his mother sat next to him.

“Honey,” his mother said slowly, carefully, “is everything okay with Yanjun?”

“Yeah,” Zhangjing said, maybe too quickly. “He’s fine. Everything is fine. He just got into that fight, and, I don’t know…”

His dad put his elbows on the table and mused, “And this was a fight...at school?”

Zhangjing nodded, biting his bottom lip. He could feel his cheeks starting to heat up, the back of his neck, his ears. His body was a traitor and he hoped his parents wouldn’t notice or comment on any redness showing up in his skin.

“Is Yanjun afraid to go home?” his dad asked bluntly.

“Be-because of the fight,” Zhangjing said, surprised. “Yeah. His parents don’t like it when he gets into trouble.”

“Do they hurt him?” His dad, again.

“I…” Zhangjing said, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked down the hall again, and wrung his hands in his lap. He hadn’t been expecting his dad to be so direct. “I don’t know,” he lied.

“Baby,” his mother started. She reached across the space between them and took one of his hands in hers. “Are you protecting him?”

Zhangjing bit down onto his lip so hard he tasted metal, and the sharp, acute pain made the tears gathering in his eyes overflow and roll down his cheeks. His mother was there, shifting closer, wiping the tears away with the pads of her thumb. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Sometimes we have to make difficult choices to protect the people we love,” his mother said.

“But, Mama, he’s so scared,” Zhangjing said. “He said we can’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

Zhangjing clammed up, biting his lip again, sniffling. He shook his head. “I know we can’t keep it a secret forever, but. I promised him. I promised him I’d help him. And he’ll be safe here for a few days, right? So can we pretend? For a few days, can we pretend you don’t know anything?”

“If we know something is wrong,” his dad said. “We can’t ignore it.”

"I'm not asking you to ignore it," Zhangjing pleaded. "I'm just asking you to trust me. Because I need him to trust me, too."

His father sighed as he massaged his temples with his fingers. "If we did know something," he started, "and told someone, will that put him in danger?"

"Yes," Zhangjing said, remembering how white Yanjun had turned when his mom said she was calling Yanjun's mother. He didn't know exactly what would happen, but he knew that right now, in this moment, if Yanjun found out they'd told anyone, Yanjun would bolt. And that was danger enough.

His father sighed again, thinking. Finally, he said, “We raised you to use your head, and you’re a good kid, so for a few days, we can play along if it’s really not safe for him otherwise.”

“I’m sorry to put you in this situation," he told his parents. He was so grateful for them both.

His mother slid into the same seat as his, squeezing into the limited space, and held her to his chest and kissed the top of his head. “We love you, and you obviously care about him a lot. We do, too. A few days, but then we want the truth.”

.


	8. Chapter 8

That night, after washing up and bringing out all their extra blankets to set up a space for Yanjun to sleep that night on Zhangjing’s bedroom floor, Zhangjing laid awake on his bed thinking about what his parents had said. They knew what was going on with Yanjun at home, even though no one had said the words aloud. That, he believed wholeheartedly. His parents weren’t stupid.

A few days, and then the truth. Which meant he had to convince Yanjun that he could tell his parents everything. He had to convince Yanjun that he’d keep him safe, always. He didn’t know how to do that, because every time he looked at Yanjun now he remembered every knock on his window in the middle of the night, every bruise he tended to, every cut, scrape, gash. He hadn’t kept him safe his whole life; he’d just slapped a bandaid on him and sent him on his way.

On the floor, Yanjun was shifting around on the multiple layers of blankets laid out to form a makeshift mattress. Zhangjing had given him two pillows for his head and another to cuddle, if he wanted. He could hear Yanjun rolling around, never quite settling, and he finally rolled onto his side and whispered, “Are you okay down there?”

“Sorry, am I making too much noise?”

“No,” Zhangjing said, smiling softly at him. Yanjun was in his own pajamas this time, so the clothes fit, but all the rolling around had made his shirt ride up, exposing his belly and the lower part of his ribs. Zhangjing frowned at what he saw, and Yanjun, self-conscious, quickly adjusted his shirt, but Zhangjing had already seen the medley of bruises across his skin. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Yanjun mumbled.

“It hurts,” Zhangjing said, sitting up. “It’s okay to say if it does.” He swung his feet to the ground and stood. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

He went to the bathroom for the first aid kit and brought it out, opening up the container for pain relief ointment. The little tube was about halfway finished, one end tightly squeezed to push the gel up to the tip. He brought this back to his room and flipped on the light, grinning when Yanjun groaned and put his hands over his eyes.

“A little warning would be nice,” Yanjun grumbled, lowering his hands and blinking rapidly to adjust.

“Sit up,” Zhangjing said. “I’ll put this on for you. It should help.”

Obediently, Yanjun sat up. Zhangjing sat next to him and reached for the bottom hem of Yanjun’s shirt, gasping when Yanjun’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. “It’s just ointment,” Zhangjing said softly.

Yanjun muttered, “It’s embarrassing,” cheeks turning light pink. But he let go.

Zhangjing went more slowly this time, taking Yanjun’s shirt in his fingers and delicately lifting it up, up, up, until the fabric was bunched under Yanjun’s armpits. A bruise that spanned the whole width of Zhangjing’s hand blossomed from the bottom of Yanjun’s ribcage on the left side all the way up to just under Yanjun’s nipple. Zhangjing hissed upon seeing it, and Yanjun wouldn’t look at him. It was like he was ashamed of it.

“He did this?” Zhangjing asked.

Yanjun nodded. His chest rose and fell with even, controlled breaths.

“Can you just take off your shirt?” Zhangjing said. “It’s easier, and you don’t have to hold it up.”

Yanjun peeled off his shirt, his hair falling messily around his face as he did so. He bunched up his shirt into a ball and put it down beside him. There was a bruise at Yanjun’s collarbone, too, purple and dark. He leaned back onto his palms.

“I’m going to start with this one,” Zhangjing said, pointing to the one over Yanjun’s ribs.

“Okay,” Yanjun said in a small voice.

Zhangjing squeezed ointment onto his fingers. It smelled minty and medicinal, a familiar scent from childhood. He touched two fingers to Yanjun’s skin, swallowing when Yanjun gasped and his muscles retracted and jumped. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Yanjun closed his eyes, nodding, and Zhangjing slowly began to spread the ointment across Yanjun’s body, over his ribs, up his chest.

“How’d this happen?” he asked.

“I fell,” Yanjun whispered at first, a knee-jerk kind of response, but then he said, “he pushed me into the kitchen counter. A few times.”

Zhangjing massaged the ointment into the bruise, and Yanjun winced but didn’t say anything more. When he was done with that bruise, he moved on to the one at Yanjun’s collarbone.

“What about this one?”

“Mm,” Yanjun hummed, tilting his head and trying to remember as Zhangjing touched his fingers to the hard, defined line of his clavicle. “I think it was one of my textbooks,” he said.

This time it was Zhangjing who winced, though Yanjun didn’t see. It hurt that Yanjun could speak so nonchalantly about these things. Like it was normal for a father to throw a textbook at his child with intent to cause pain. Like it had happened to someone else.

“How does it feel? Is the ointment working?”

“It feels numb,” Yanjun said. “I feel numb.”

“Turn around. Are there any on your back?”

Yanjun turned around, sitting with his legs crossed and leaning his elbows on his knees. Zhangjing ran his eyes down the expanse of Yanjun’s back, past his bony shoulder blades and the curve where he could see the individual ridges of his vertebrae. There was a bruise near the middle of Yanjun’s back in the shape of a crescent, but thick. He touched it gently, and Yanjun’s muscles jumped again.

“Door knob,” Yanjun said, as Zhangjing worked ointment over it. Across Yanjun’s back were scars of all shapes and sizes, some thin and smoothed over, some thick and knotted. He touched one of the gnarlier ones, above Yanjun’s right shoulder blade. “When I was in grade seven,” Yanjun said, “I tripped in the kitchen carrying some dishes after dinner? And broke a few plates. My dad lost it. Took one of the pieces and…I guess I make him angry a lot.”

Zhangjing couldn’t take it anymore. He took Yanjun’s discarded shirt and put it over Yanjun’s head. “It’s not your fault,” he said, helping the younger pull the shirt back on completely, covering up his skin and his stories and his pain. “Whether you make him angry or not, he doesn’t have the right to hurt you.”

Yanjun was quiet. Zhangjing was starting to be able to read Yanjun’s silences with more accuracy.

“You don’t deserve that, Yanjun,” Zhangjing said. “Please don’t think you deserved any of it.” He threw his arms around Yanjun’s middle and curved himself over Yanjun’s back. Hands came up to steady him, and then they stilled over Zhangjing’s wrists. Hooking his chin over Yanjun’s shoulder, Zhangjing felt the other boy breathe. He smelled like strawberries again. Strawberries and something smokier and muskier underneath that. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Don’t sleep on the floor. It’s uncomfortable.”

“But your parents--”

“Don’t really care,” Zhangjing said. “Or, they won’t know, anyway.”

He helped Yanjun to his feet, and the other boy moved stiffly and heavily like his joints weren’t quite cooperating with him. After Zhangjing turned off the light, they went to the bed and laid down, Zhangjing on the inside against the wall and Yanjun on the outside. Zhangjing adjusted the covers over them both, fretting and smoothing the sheets with his palms.

“That’s better, right?” he whispered once they had settled. They faced each other, so close that Zhangjing could feel Yanjun’s breath tickle his cheek when he breathed. Outside, the moon was huge and gibbous, dripping silvery light through his window and curtains that reflected across the sharp, angular planes of Yanjun’s face. His cheek, his nose, his temple.

Zhangjing wanted to touch him everywhere. Wanted to count each scar and bruise and trade the pain that remained for something gentler, softer. He wanted to kiss him, and this realization bloomed inside of him like a rose. But then he remembered Yanjun’s trembling fingers at dinner, his muscles jumping away from Zhangjing’s touch.

He kept his hands to himself and said, “Close your eyes and try to sleep, okay?”

Yanjun did so. Zhangjing wondered what he was seeing on the backs of his eyelids, what he dreamed about. In a few slow breaths, Yanjun was dozing, the tiny furrow in his brow relaxing and smoothing over the skin over his forehead.

Zhangjing closed his eyes and fell asleep shortly after, remembering what his mother had said earlier. _Sometimes we have to make difficult choices to protect the people we love._ And Zhangjing knew, in his heart of hearts, that he loved Yanjun.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lin yanjun i'm sorry for hurting you


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains depictions of violence

In the morning, it took five tries to get Yanjun to wake up and roll out of bed. Zhangjing was reminded of the fact that Yanjun was basically a zombie for the first few hours of his day, and needed to be coaxed to eat the simple toast and eggs Zhangjing’s mother had prepared for them both. She worried over the state of their school uniforms before they left, and checked their school bags before they walked to school together.

“Your mom’s funny,” Yanjun said as they passed the block where the bubble tea shop was.

“How so?”

Yanjun grinned, the first smile of the day from him. “She worries. She slipped extra buns into my bag and thought I wouldn’t notice.”

“Well,” Zhangjing said, “you’re really too skinny.”

“Says the person dieting for the musical.”

“Actually, I stopped!” Zhangjing announced proudly. He beamed at Yanjun, who seemed taken aback by the brightness of his smile. “I don’t see the point in denying myself in that way when I’m dancing for two hours a day, anyway.” He rubbed his belly with his hand. “Gotta take care of this guy.”

Yanjun laughed and flung his arm around Zhangjing’s shoulder, pulling him close. They fell into step together, Zhangjing tucked into Yanjun’s side. “I’m glad,” Yanjun said simply.

Zhangjing blushed. He turned away from the soft look in Yanjun’s eyes, feeling the rose inside of him bloom and pulse again. “Psh, I didn’t do it for you,” he said, but even to him it felt weak, because all he really wanted was for Yanjun to keep looking at him like that, like Zhangjing had put the moon in his sky.

.

Something was different at lunch. Zhangjing sat down at his usual table and was surprised to see Ziyi already there next to Xukun, along with Linong and the third member of their basketball group, Linkai, sitting in a row on the bench. They were joined by Zhengting, Justin, and Chengcheng.

That wasn’t the weird part though. The weird part was that Xukun and Ziyi were sitting next to each other and holding hands on top of the table and Xukun was feeding a bite of his lunch directly into Ziyi’s mouth with his metal chopsticks.

“Um,” Zhangjing said, taking up some of the empty space next to Zhengting on the bench. “What’s happening?”

“Ziyi asked Kunkun out last night after we parted ways,” Zhengting explained. “And now they’re being so gross together. Kunkun didn’t tell you? He’s only told me about a hundred times today how cute it was when Ziyi finally got the nerve to ask him. The nerd even prepared a rap but bombed it when faced with Xukun’s beauty. His words, not mine. Last night, they even--” he reached around to cup his hands around Justin’s ears “--kissed. Sorry Chengcheng, I only have two hands.”

“Eat dirt,” Chengcheng responded.

“I’m not a baby!” Justin protested, wriggling out of Zhengting’s grasp. “What’d he say? They smooched?”

“Yes, Justin.” Zhengting rolled his eyes and winked at Zhangjing. “I said, ‘they smooched.’ Those words really left my lips.”

“Don’t be a brat, Ge.” Justin pouted and Zhangjing couldn’t help but laugh. The kid was cute.

“I texted you the details,” Xukun interjected, leaning forward across the table. “You never responded.”

“Did you?” Zhangjing took his phone out of his pocket now, mindful to keep it at least a little hidden under the table, and checked his messages. There it was, Xukun’s message sent just a little after midnight. The sheer number of emojis made the message indecipherable to Zhangjing, but he smiled, seeing how happy his friends were. “Ah, I see it, now. I’m sorry I didn’t respond. Congrats to you both.”

“I figured you were...preoccupied,” Xukun offered. He smiled back at Zhangjing, and then directed his smile to somewhere above Zhangjing’s shoulder.

A cough sounded behind him. Zhangjing swiveled around in his seat to see Yanjun standing there with a tray of food in one hand and a slightly pinched expression on his face. “Uh,” Yanjun said. “Can I sit with you?”

Zhangjing, grinning hugely, moved over on the bench to make room for him. “Of course! Sit, sit, sit.” He even patted the space beside him, and Yanjun slid onto the bench.

“Shit, bro,” Ziyi said. “What happened to your face? I thought you were sick?”

Yanjun shrugged. “Ah, you know.” Ziyi frowned in a way that made it apparent he did not know, and opened his mouth to say more, but then Yanjun was nodding at Ziyi’s and Xukun’s joined hands. “You finally asked, huh?”

“And I said yes!” Xukun said excitedly.

“It’s not like he asked you to marry him,” Chengcheng muttered.

Yanjun offered Ziyi a small, easy smile. “That’s cool, man.”

And that was it. Conversation started back up again. Zhangjing finished his lunch in a matter of minutes and got distracted by a story Linkai was telling the group about a haunted subway train, and when he looked back down there was a little bit more rice and meat on his tray. He glanced at Yanjun, who shrugged at him. “You’re still hungry, right?” Yanjun asked.

Zhangjing leaned his shoulder against his. “I like you sitting with us,” he said quietly.

“I like me sitting with you,” Yanjun said.

“You’re so shameless. I swear, the things that come out of your mouth.”

“You don’t like it?” He smirked. Zhangjing felt his face flush. It wasn’t fair, the effect Yanjun had on him. Yanjun and his handsome smirk, how he seemed to be able to anticipate Zhangjing's moods and needs, the cute dimples that formed in his cheeks when he smiled. He needed Yanjun to smile more often.

He was about to say so when a shadow fell over their table again.

It was Wufan, standing behind Yanjun. He put his hand on Yanjun’s shoulder and the table fell quiet, watching as Yanjun shrugged his hand off with an icy glint in his eyes.

“You’re back, huh?” Wufan said with a sneer. “Jesus, what happened to your face?”

Zhangjing took hold of Yanjun’s wrist under the table. “Don’t,” he pleaded with him quietly, when he felt Yanjun twitch.

“You mute now, too?” Wufan laughed at his own joke, slapping the surface of the table with an open palm. Beside Zhangjing, Zhengting jumped at the noise.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Yanjun said in a growl.

“That’s rich,” Wufan scoffed. “Nothing to say? You missed our date last time, princess.” He slapped the table one more time and this time almost everyone around the table jumped, startled. Yanjun was still as a statue above the surface, but his wrist in Zhangjing’s hand shook like a bomb that was about to explode. “I’ll see you after school. Don’t pussy out this time.”

Wufan left. On his way out of the cafeteria, he knocked some innocent student’s tray out of her hands, ignoring her indignant, “Hey!” that followed.

Xukun shook his head and sucked on his teeth. “What an angry kid,” he said, as the table collectively relaxed.

“What did he mean, he’ll see you after school?” Zhangjing asked Yanjun. Yanjun shook his wrist out of Zhangjing’s grip.

He stood up suddenly, and Zhangjing could feel the energy, kinetic and electric, radiating off of him in waves. “I have to--” Yanjun said quickly, a little wildly “--play ball. I gotta--”

He made a noise that sounded like a frustrated growl, like an animal trying to escape a cage. Linong stood, too, picking up his tray and watching Yanjun. “I’ll come,” he offered. “C’mon. Let’s get out there.”

“Thanks,” Yanjun said roughly.

“What did he mean,” Zhangjing said again, standing up also, but the boys were moving quickly, and Yanjun was eager to let off the steam that was almost visibly coming out of his ears. “You aren’t going to meet him after school, right, Yanjun? I have rehearsal -- Lin Yanjun!” He and Linong flew out the door, and Zhangjing sat back down, a ball of nerves all vibrating into one big mess. “He has to pick me up from rehearsal,” he said aloud to the table. “It’s our thing.”

Zhengting took Zhangjing’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sure he will,” Zhengting said. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

.

Rehearsal was a disaster. As Chaoze lamented the state of the musical given how distracted everyone was these days, Zhangjing worried about Yanjun. He hadn’t heard from him since lunch, and he hadn’t responded to any of the messages Zhangjing had managed to send from under his desk when the teacher wasn’t looking.

“Seriously, what’s with everyone?” Chaoze looked about ready to rip out all his hair the fourth time Zhangjing accidentally stepped on Zhengting’s toes during a part of the choreography where they were supposed to cross paths. “Let’s take a ten minute break,” he announced. “Clear your head and come back ready to work, please.”

He’d make a great studio director one day, Zhangjing thought absently. He went to sit in one of the empty seats in the auditorium and brought his phone out of his bookbag. No new messages from Yanjun. He sighed, frustrated, and chewed on his bottom lip.

“Worried?” Zhengting said, appearing in front of him with an extra bottle of water. He handed it to Zhangjing, who took it gratefully.

“Yes,” Zhangjing said. “I’m really worried. I can’t help but feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“I’m sure he knows how to take care of himself,” Zhengting offered.

“That’s just it.” Zhangjing shook his head. “I don’t think he does.”

Zhengting frowned, but before he could say anything else, Xukun strode up to them both, eyes as wide as saucers. “Ziyi texted,” he said. “He said he saw Yanjun heading out into the yard.” When no one moved, he added, “Should we like, go?”

Zhangjing legs moved before his brain could tell them to. He got up and ran. He could hear the other boys give chase, could hear Chaoze calling out to them all, “Where are you going?” but he didn’t have time to respond.

“We’ll get help!” Xukun and Zhengting shouted behind him.

Zhangjing skid past corners and flew down hallways, charged into the cafeteria which was empty now of students and staff but still smelled stale and wet. He collided into the double doors and pushed them open, running out into the big field that stood between the high school and the elementary school buildings. To the left of the field were the basketball courts where Yanjun and his friends played sometimes at lunch, and to the right of the field was the playground.

This is where he saw them, and it was like being back in middle school, happening upon Yanjun and two boys wrestling in the dirt, scared witless for his friend. “Stop!” he screamed, running closer at full speed. He could see them fighting like it was happening in slow motion, all heavy jabs and wicked hooks. He hated it. He needed it to stop. He rammed into them both, breaking them apart and going tumbling with Wufan, who seemed more surprised than hurt when they’d stopped rolling in the mulch by the swing sets, dirt across both their cheeks and in their hair.

Zhangjing scrambled up, spurred by something stronger than mere energy. “Stop!” He shoved at Wufan as the other boy tried to stand, and Wufan sputtered, tripping back, before regaining his senses.

He surged up and hit Zhangjing hard across his chin with his fist, knocking Zhangjing to the ground.

“Don’t touch him!” That was Yanjun. Zhangjing’s vision was swimming from just one punch, disoriented. He'd never been hit like that before. He tried sitting up, dizzy and ears ringing, and saw the two boys fighting again. And then he saw Yanjun take a hard punch to his ribs, where he was already hurting. Yanjun crumpled up like paper, folding in on himself, and Wufan, sensing a weak point, attacked him there again and again.

“Stop!” Zhangjing shouted again, losing his balance when he tried to stand.

Then Zhangjing heard something crack, and Yanjun screamed, a sharp and awful noise, and fell to the ground.

Wufan stepped back with shoulders heaving, watching Yanjun with a mix of rage and disbelief. “Get up!” he shouted. Yanjun was still, even as Wufan paced around him. He looked like a pent up bull. “Get up!” He reared his foot back and kicked Yanjun in the gut, and Zhangjing’s heart fell out of his chest when the other boy didn’t respond. He just lay there, motionless.

Wufan reared his foot back again. Zhangjing pushed himself up, tripped over himself and the mulch of the playground floor to cross the distance between them as fast as he could, and hooked his hands around Wufan’s ankle before his foot could reach its target. “Stop,” Zhangjing said again, pleading and begging, a knot forming in his throat. “Stop hurting him, please stop hurting him.”

“What the fuck?” Wufan shook his leg like he was trying to shake off a rabid dog, and as he did so, more voices joined them on the playground.

“Call an ambulance,” someone said. A man. It sounded like one of their gym teachers. “NOW, Mr. Cai.” This person took Wufan by the back of his neck and shook him, marched him away from the group. Zhangjing didn't care where he took him. He frantically searched for Yanjun.

Someone else was saying, “Zhangjing, Zhangjing, can you stand?” It was Zhengting. Zhangjing blinked and looked around him. Ziyi and Xukun and Zhengting were all here. His ears were still ringing and his face felt wet and puffy. Finally, his eyes sought out where Yanjun lay. The school nurse hovered over his body on the ground, her own body shielding Yanjun’s from view. He started toward them both, but Zhengting stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let her do her job,” he said, not unkindly.

“Is he okay?” Zhangjing cried. “Please, is he okay? Just tell me.”

The nurse turned to him, still blocking most of Yanjun’s body from sight, but Zhangjing caught a glimpse of his face, pale and bloodied, eyes closed like he could be sleeping, and he choked out a sob. “There’s a hospital close by,” she said. “We’ll get him there right away.”

She hadn’t answered his question, but Zhangjing was afraid to ask it a second time.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "it gets worse before it gets better" is my motto
> 
> again, sorry lin yanjun


	10. Chapter 10

Zhangjing hugged his bookbag to his chest as he paced the limited space in the hospital waiting area, a small section of the hospital that opened up into a main hall which led to rooms for patients and to the elevators to other floors. His mother had arrived about an hour ago and Yanjun had arrived in the ambulance nearly three hours ago. A kind nurse had given Zhangjing an ice pack for the forming bruise on his chin which he had used, but by now it had already melted and was sitting on the corner table and leaking condensation onto the magazines there. 

“Honey,” Zhangjing’s mom said, “please sit. I know you’re worried, but all we can do is wait.”

“Why is it taking so long?” Zhangjing asked her. 

“At least put your bag down.”

He put it down on the empty seat next to his mother’s and resumed pacing. He couldn’t sit. He needed to move. He needed to see Yanjun. All he could see in his mind was Yanjun’s pale, bloodied face, and all he could hear was the crack of bones crunching before Yanjun fell to the ground. 

Zhengting came around the corner, holding a bag up and a smile on his face. “I brought some buns,” he said. “From the cafe. Thought it might help.”

“You’re so sweet,” Zhangjing’s mother said. “What a good boy.”

Zhengting blushed. “You’re the one who gave me the money, Auntie,” he reminded her. 

“Still.” She grabbed Zhangjing’s bag and moved it to the floor. “Baby, sit. And eat.”

Zhangjing sat, and took the bun that was handed to him. Zhengting sat down next to him, taking his own share of the food. The smell of freshly steamed bread wafted up to his nose and Zhangjing bit down on instinct, a flood of salty and savory flavor bursting onto his tongue. He realized he was hungry, and scarfed the food down quickly.

“Zhengting,” he said when he was done, “you don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know,” Zhengting admitted. “I’ll probably go soon...I just wanted to make sure you were okay, too.”

He smiled at Zhengting’s concern. “I’m okay,” Zhangjing said. 

Zhengting said, “Ugh, you’ve got meat in your teeth,” pointing, and bore Zhangjing’s playful swats in return for laughing at him.

A woman entered the waiting area, wholly insignificant at first, but then Zhangjing did a double take. She seemed familiar -- slight but tall, with a small face and long, straight black hair. She sat down in one of the empty chairs closest to the hall. Realization dawned on him as he watched how she sat and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“That’s Yanjun’s mom,” he said to his own mother.

The other woman’s head turned sharply toward them, but she looked away quickly before they could even make eye contact.

“She shows up after three hours,” Zhangjing said, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice. He had no sympathy for Yanjun’s parents right now, and probably never would.

“Zhangjing,” his mother reprimanded sharply. 

“What?”

She didn’t say anything, and let her silence be her judgment and admonishment enough. Zhangjing sank lower into his seat, bitter and worried and confused. Why had Yanjun’s mother shown up, anyway? It wasn’t like she cared about her son.

After a couple of minutes, a nurse came by and got Mrs. Lin’s attention. They exchanged a few words, and then she rose out of her seat and followed the nurse out of the waiting area and down the hall.

“He’s out,” Zhangjing realized quickly, sitting up straight again like a dog that had caught onto a familiar scent. He started to stand, but his mother stopped him. 

“Be patient.”

He tried, he really tried. But it wasn’t fair! Why was Yanjun’s mother allowed to see him when Zhangjing couldn’t yet? Did she care about him more than he did? His knees jiggled and shook with all the nervous energy bouncing around inside of him. After what seemed like forever, Yanjun’s mom appeared again, her hands wiping at her cheeks delicately, but she didn’t look at them once as she strode past the waiting area and out of the hospital. 

She looked like she’d been crying. That couldn’t be good.

All the worst possible scenarios Zhangjing could think of crowded his head. Yanjun hadn’t made it. Yanjun wouldn’t wake up. Yanjun would never open his eyes and smile at him ever again. Zhangjing took the opportunity to jump up and catch the arm of the nurse who had trailed Mrs. Lin, close to tears.

“Can I see Lin Yanjun?” he asked frantically.

“You’re family?” the nurse responded. She was an older woman, with graying hair at her temples and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

Zhangjing shook his head reluctantly. “Friends. We’re friends. Is he -- can I see him?”

“You can,” the nurse said slowly, and Zhangjing cheered internally, because that meant Yanjun was well enough to see. “But one at a time,” the nurse continued. Zhangjing looked back at Zhengting and his mother, who both gave him a thumbs up. He clung to the nurse and nodded. “Follow me then.”

He followed her in the direction from which Mrs. Lin came to a small room not too far from the waiting area, just at the end of the hall. To think, Yanjun had probably been this close to them for hours now, and Zhangjing didn’t know. To him, the hospital had felt like a maze when he first entered, but now he realized it wasn’t that large or confusing at all. Four beds with barely enough space for three steps between each of them took up the corners of the room, and Yanjun laid in the closest to the window.

Zhangjing stepped out from behind the nurse and went to him, and as he neared, Yanjun’s face lit up in a dopey smile, and he lifted a hand toward Zhangjing in greeting. There was a cannula inserted in the top of his hand, connected to a drip dispensing fluids beside the bed.

“Hey,” Zhangjing said softly.

“Hi,” Yanjun whispered, eyes slightly glazed. “Hi, hey, pretty.”

“He is on a lot of pain medication,” the nurse said behind him. “Don’t make him laugh,” the nurse warned. “Cracked ribs. You’ve got a little less than half an hour before the sedatives kick in.” She turned to go.

"Will he be okay?" Zhangjing asked before she could leave.

The nurse paused in her steps and looked them both up and down. "He will be fine. Just needs lots of rest, and maybe someone to make sure he doesn't get into trouble again." She winked at Zhangjing and left, her footsteps echoing as she entered the main hall.

Zhangjing took Yanjun’s offered hand and sat in the chair placed for visitors beside the bed. Yanjun’s fingers were dry and rough, and Zhangjing held him carefully, like he was handling precious crystal. The skin over Yanjun's knuckles was scraped up, and Zhangjing tried to remember a time when Yanjun's hands were smooth and free of cuts and scrapes and scars.

“I was so worried, Yanjun,” Zhangjing said, feeling his words catch in his throat. Tears sprung into his eyes, and he wasn’t sure if they were the happy kind or the sad kind. Yanjun looked so worn and defeated in the hospital bed, his black hair like a crown of thorns around his head on the pillow. He looked nothing at all like the boy who often climbed up to his window in the middle of the night with a dangerous, devilish smirk on his face.

Yanjun frowned. “I’m sorry.” His frown deepened. “My mom came by. She cried, too.”

“I saw her,” Zhangjing said. He scooted the chair closer and brought Yanjun’s hand up to his own cheek. Yanjun brushed at the wetness there with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t cry, Zhangjing,” he said. “I feel fine.”

Zhangjing felt another wave of tears rush up to the surface and spill over. “That’s the pain meds,” he said. “Yanjun, you’re not fine. Yanjun, why did you go? Why did you go to the playground? Why did you go looking for a fight? Why didn’t you just come to rehearsal, and pick me up?”

A line formed in Yanjun’s forehead. “I had to finish the fight,” he said, seeming confused. 

“No,” Zhangjing said. “You didn’t. You don’t always have to finish the fight. Sometimes you can just walk away. And the bullies will leave you alone.”

Yanjun shook his head. “You don’t understand. They never leave you alone. They just change faces.” 

He spoke with a decade of grief and violence behind his words, and Zhangjing couldn’t question it, couldn’t deny it, because this was Yanjun’s reality, his truth, but the utter resolution in Yanjun’s face and words made Zhangjing feel an acute sense of desperation. The kind of desperation you feel when you hold your breath underwater for too long and don’t know if you can make it to the surface for air.

He said, “You don’t have to fight. If you can’t stop for yourself, can you try to do it for me?”

“I  _ am  _ doing it for you,” Yanjun said. His eyes were dark and shadowed, conflicted.

The bottom fell out of Zhangjing’s stomach. “What?”

“Wufan was saying those things about you...I didn’t like that. Others, too.”

“What do you mean, others?”

Yanjun blinked slowly and let his hand fall from Zhangjing’s face. “I was protecting you,” he said.

“You were not,” Zhangjing snapped, surprised by his own indignation. It had sparked like a flame, and his face felt hot where Yanjun had touched him, and so did his chest and lungs and arms. “You were not  _ protecting  _ me. And I didn’t ask you to do that. I don’t need that from you, or anyone. I can take care of myself.”

“I wanted to,” Yanjun said simply, churlishly. The dulling of senses from the medication had made him slow and sluggish but also childishly honest. 

Zhangjing rose from his seat and thrust his finger at Yanjun’s face. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. Because that means you were getting hurt because of me, Lin Yanjun. And I don’t know if I can deal with that. I’m not okay with that.” 

Yanjun frowned and pouted, his eyes still a bit glazed over, his breathing slow and steady. When he blinked, his eyes stayed closed for longer this time. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You're upset. What are we talking about? I’m just so happy you’re here.”

Zhangjing deflated. He felt the fight leave his bloodstream and leave behind a shaky sort of emptiness, and sat back down, folding his hands into his lap and feeling silly for pointing his finger at Yanjun’s face like a little kid throwing a tantrum. He took Yanjun’s hand again, a silent gesture to ask for forgiveness. He said, “Let’s talk about this when you’re not high on drugs, okay?”

Yanjun nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

.

That night Zhangjing dreamed that he and Yanjun were the last two people on earth. He dreamed there was a storm that they couldn't escape. He dreamed Yanjun shielded him from the worst of it, as they huddled together somewhere in the dreamscape. When the storm was over, Yanjun was gone, and Zhangjing was alone. He awoke with an ache that stemmed from somewhere deep in his chest, wishing he could have been Yanjun's shield instead.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're nearing the end! i don't have the next chapters written yet so it will be slower than the other updates...sorry...


	11. Chapter 11

Zhangjing took the bus to the hospital after rehearsal the next day, bringing with him some buns he picked up at the bakery near the bus stop. The bus was crowded, full of people and smells elbows in his face, and Zhangjing did his best to protect the buns from being damaged. They were important to him.

At the hospital, he signed in with the receptionist and headed down the hall to Yanjun’s room. “Visiting hours are over in an hour,” the receptionist called out from behind him, reminding him. Zhangjing wondered if maybe later, he could climb up to the window next to Yanjun’s bed after visiting hours were over, knock on the glass, and tumble inside. Unfortunately, though, the walls of the hospital weren’t made for climbing, and the window was a solid sheet of glass with no way to open it.

Yanjun was sitting up in bed hugging a pillow to his chest, eyes closed, when Zhangjing entered. The stillness in the room made it seem like the air was buzzing, like Zhangjing was interrupting. So hovered by the door, knocking on the frame to announce his presence. Luckily, Yanjun didn’t startle, just opened his eyes slowly and looked in his direction.

“Hey,” Yanjun said in a volume only slightly above a whisper.

“Hi,” Zhangjing said just as quietly. He watched Yanjun’s elbows rise and fall gently around the pillow as he breathed. “What are you doing?”

“Breathing exercises,” Yanjun said. “They taught me this morning. I’m supposed to...do them. Every few hours. But they really hurt.”

Zhangjing sat in the chair next to Yanjun’s bed, putting his bag down on the floor and the box of buns on the table beside the bed, and Yanjun breathed, slow, in and out. Then Yanjun’s eyelids fluttered closed again and his breath hitched, a wrinkle forming in his brow. Zhangjing gasped.

“It’s fine,” Yanjun said. “It’s normal. They're weaning me off painkillers. I’m just getting used to it."

“I think you’re a little too used to pain,” Zhangjing said. He looked down at his lap after saying it, surprised and a little ashamed. A thick silence followed, only interrupted by Yanjun’s labored breathing, and the empty ache in Zhangjing’s chest returned from this morning.

“I think you’re right,” Yanjun agreed softly. “I’m happy you came to visit.”

“Of course I’d visit,” Zhangjing said, scoffing.

“I thought maybe...you were mad at me.”

Zhangjing looked at him, worrying his lips with his teeth. Yanjun was looking out the window, leaning back against the stack of pillows on his bed, shoulders slumped. He put the pillow he was holding behind him, and as he moved Zhangjing noticed how skinny he was under the hospital gown, his collarbones showing starkly, and his cheeks hollow. He seemed vulnerable, like the hospital hadn’t just stripped him of his clothes and put him in a paper-thin gown; it had stripped him of the tough skin that had shielded him from so much. Zhangjing wondered if this was a truer version of Yanjun, if there was even such a thing as a truer version of a person.

“I’m not mad,” Zhangjing said. Because he wasn’t. He could never stay mad at Yanjun.

Yanjun kept his eyes on his hands in his lap.

“I’m just...scared for you,” Zhangjing admitted. Yanjun’s pale, bloodied face flashed in his mind again. “It’s reckless, the fighting. And so dangerous. Yesterday, I -- it was the first time I thought--” He swallowed, unable to say the words.

“Thought what?”

“That you could die,” Zhangjing said in a rush. “I thought you could die, Yanjun.”

Yanjun was quiet, and gradually the sounds of the hospital around them filtered into the room. The chatter of nurses and doctors exchanging notes on patients. The clatter of equipment being hauled through the hall on carts, the phone ringing, the low murmur of patients talking to their loved ones. The longer that Yanjun didn’t respond, the larger the ache in Zhangjing’s chest grew, until it felt like a chasm. He needed to fill it. He took the little box of buns from the table and opened it, letting out steam and the savory, familiar scent of bread and meat. “I brought some food,” he said awkwardly. “Are you allowed to eat it?”

Yanjun nodded. Zhangjing picked the plumpest, juiciest looking one of the four in the box and gave it to him. They ate quietly, and slowly, with Yanjun needing to take a break every few bites. Zhangjing finished his food long before Yanjun was even halfway through, and his precious hour of visiting time was running out. When he could bear the silence no longer, he asked, “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

Yanjun paused, then took a suspiciously large bite out of his bun, cheeks bulging as he chewed. Zhangjing narrowed his eyes at him.

“Lin Yanjun,” he said threateningly.

“Maybe I remember,” Yanjun said with his mouth full. “It’s fuzzy?”

“Is that why you thought I was mad?”

He nodded, still chewing, and finally swallowed.

“Well, what do you remember?”

The question brought the most adorable, confused, struck expression to Yanjun’s face, like he’d been caught by a teacher sneaking candy from his pocket. When they were younger and got into trouble, Zhangjing remembered that Yanjun would always look to him first. For guidance, for support, for answers. For a way out. Now, he supposed, that he was the one catching Yanjun with the figurative candy, Yanjun had no one to look to, and all he could do was cutely squirm while gazing at Zhangjing with big doe eyes.

“What do _you_ remember?” Yanjun said.

“We’re not playing this game.” Zhangjing crossed his arms in front of his chest and rocked back in his seat, letting Yanjun squirm a little longer. It never took much for Yanjun to give in to Zhangjing. As kids playing together, all Zhangjing had to do was show Yanjun his pout and Yanjun would give him first dibs on the slide or a bite of his ice cream or anything else, really. 

Sure enough, only a few seconds passed before Yanjun said, “You asked me to stop fighting. For you.”

“And you said you got into those fights because you were protecting me.” The thought still upset him, that Yanjun was getting hurt because of Zhangjing, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend. Though the bruise across his eye had faded, it was still there, a reminder of the violence that existed in Yanjun’s life outside of school.

“Maybe.” Yanjun licked his lips. He sighed. “I was going to go to your rehearsal,” Yanjun said quietly. “I thought I could tell Wufan off, and make it in time. I didn’t want to fight. But he did, and you’re right. I shouldn’t have gone at all.”

“But yesterday, you said--”

“I say a lot of things, Zhangjing. Lying through my teeth. Telling myself I fell down the stairs so everyone else will believe me when I tell them that’s what happened.”

“Then how do you know what the truth is? How do _I_ know?”

“The truth is I got into all those fights because I was angry, and hurt. And it didn’t take anything to set me off. Violence is in my blood. It’s not because of you, and it's not your fault. I’m sorry I said that.”

Yanjun seemed so battle-worn, tired and weary beyond his years. Zhangjing knew he was tired of fighting, and he remembered his dream from last night, could still feel the phantom ache in his chest and how it craved to be filled. He reached over and took one of Yanjun’s hands into his, examining it, his fingers, the contrast of their skin colors side by side. He said, “From now on, tell me the truth, yeah? Even if it’s hard.”

Yanjun swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

“And violence is not in your blood,” Zhangjing said. “Because I know how gentle and kind you are. I’ve seen it, and felt it. So don’t ever tell yourself that lie again, okay?”

Yanjun’s breath hitched in a pained gasp. His other hand flew up to his cheeks to swipe at the wetness where tears had rolled down to his chin. He nodded mutely, like he was afraid that saying anything would release the torrent of tears Zhangjing could sense were gathering behind the wall at the backs of his eyes. Zhangjing squeezed his hand in his. “Lin Yanjun, you can cry.”

The wall broke down. Yanjun let himself feel, and cry, and Zhangjing shifted so he could hold him, his shield from a storm.

.


	12. Chapter 12

“How is he?” Linong sat down across from Zhangjing, his tray clattering against the surface of the table. Zhangjing didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about.

“He’s okay,” Zhangjing said. “He said the doctors said there isn’t much they can really do about cracked ribs, but they needed to run a few other tests and x-rays for some reason. He said it’s nothing to worry about, though.” He nibbled on the rice ball his mom had packed for him for lunch as their other friends brought their food over and sat around them.

“So he’ll be out soon, right?” Justin asked. “We should have a party when he’s out. Like a ‘congratulations you didn’t die!’ party.” Zhangjing grit his teeth as Zhengting and Chengcheng both whapped Justin on the back of his head from opposite sides. “Ow! Hey!”

“Sometimes I think you were raised by wolves,” Zhengting commented.

Zhangjing giggled. “He’ll be out soon,” he affirmed. “And maybe getting together at my place wouldn’t be a bad idea? He might like that.”

“That would be fun,” Ziyi said softly, and it was decided.

Zhangjing felt warm. These were Yanjun’s friends and these were Zhangjing’s friends and finally they were all together, hanging out, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He wondered if Yanjun had ever felt like he really fit anywhere before, or if he just felt adrift, unmoored and untethered. Unable to find safe harbor. Because now there was safe harbor here, with them.

“Haven’t seen Wufan around.”

Zhangjing’s ears perked at the familiar, much-disliked name.

Xukun was nodding and chewing on his food thoughtfully. “Yeah, haven’t seen him since the other day. He probably got suspended.”

“I hope he got expelled,” Zhangjing muttered under his breath, taking an aggressive bite of his rice ball.

“Zhangjing!” Zhengting’s reprimanding tone reminded Zhangjing of his mother in the hospital admonishing him for being bitter about Yanjun’s Mom showing up so late.

Zhangjing pursed his lips and ate. “What? It’s the truth.”

Across from him, Linong and Ziyi quietly agreed.

.

The receptionist at the hospital checked the information Zhangjing had put down on the sign in sheet. “You look familiar,” she said cheerfully. “Oh, Lin Yanjun? He was moved earlier today.” She rattled off a new room number and how to get there. “Just take the elevator up to the third floor and it’ll be on your right.”

“O-oh,” Zhangjing said, surprised by the new information and unsure how to process it. He shifted his book bag higher on his shoulders. “Um, why was he moved? Is he okay?”

“Ah,” the receptionist said, a kind twinkle in her eye. “I don’t know the details...and if I did, I’m not really at liberty to say. Sorry, sweetie.”

Zhangjing thanked her anyway, stuck the VISITOR sticker on the lapel of his school jacket, and began to walk down the hall to the elevator. His palms were starting to sweat. He wasn’t sure what was waiting for him on the third floor.

.

This room had the same layout as the other room, only this time there were curtains dividing the space between the beds, hiding patients from view of each other for privacy. Zhangjing didn’t know which bed Yanjun would be in, and was faced with a wall of curtains when he entered the room.

“Yanjun?” he called out uncertainly, rocking on his heels. This hall was quieter than the one downstairs, which was usually bustling with visitors, and his voice seemed to echo.

After a moment, he heard Yanjun from the far corner of the room, still from the bed by the window. “Zhangjing? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s just me. Can I see you?”

“Yeah! Of course.” The curtains flew open around Yanjun’s hospital bed. He was standing in his bare feet, wearing a blue sweater Zhangjing recognized and flannel pajama bottoms.

“They let you wear normal clothes,” Zhangjing said, feeling a grin creep up into his face. It was nice to see Yanjun on his feet instead of bundled up and pallid in bed.

“Oh.” Yanjun looked down at his own body. “Yeah.” He climbed back into bed slowly, his movements careful and purposeful, and sat cross legged over the covers.

“You look good,” Zhangjing remarked. Yanjun’s bruises were fading and he was dressed like he’d woken up late on the weekend and he’d been standing on his own two feet. His recovery felt both fast and like it was taking too long. Zhangjing took his customary seat next to the bed, expecting Yanjun to respond with something characteristic of him like _oh, you noticed?_ or, _don’t I always?_

But Yanjun just hummed, looking pensive. He brought his fingers up to lips and started chewing on his stubby fingernails. Zhangjing tsked at the action and reached out, intending to take Yanjun by the wrist and bring his fingers out of his mouth, but Yanjun flinched back, and Zhangjing’s heart shattered at the now-familiar reflex, brow crinkling instantly in worry.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Yanjun mumbled. “Sorry.”

Zhangjing allowed himself to glare and huff. “Remember what we said yesterday? Only the truth.”

Yanjun brought his fingers to his lips again, then down to his lap, then back up. He wouldn’t look Zhangjing directly in the eyes. He said, “My mom came by. With my dad.”

Immediately, Zhangjing’s eyes examined Yanjun for any new injuries, but there was nothing that he could see. He gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in tightly. “What happened?”

“Oh,” Yanjun said lightly. “You know. He got mad. Said it was a waste of money for me to be here. That the school was asking all these questions. Things got a little heated.”

“What does that mean?”

“He just -- it’s so fast with him? One second he was by the bed and the next he was shaking me around, saying we were going home. Luckily a nurse was walking by and saw. She got help. And...they moved me here.” Yanjun spread his hands by his sides, as though to show off his new bed.

“Has he come back?” Zhangjing asked.

“I don’t think so,” Yanjun whispered. “But I don’t know. The nurse said they won’t let him come visit me. He’s on a list now.” He paled suddenly, swallowing thickly. “But. I’m supposed to be able to leave the hospital tomorrow. Zhangjing, I can’t go home. He’ll really kill me this time.”

Zhangjing slipped off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and facing Yanjun. Their knees were touching. Slowly, he held out his hands, palms up, fingers slightly curled, and waited for Yanjun to come to him. Yanjun did, putting his hands in Zhangjing’s, palm to palm. Zhangjing thought about his own parents and his promise to them, and the truth. “Don’t go home. Stay with us. My parents know.”

Yanjun locked eyes with him, and Zhangjing was surprised by the fear he saw in them. He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Yanjun’s hands soothingly. “I didn’t tell them. I didn’t need to. They figured it out and said they’d help. They want to help.”

“I don’t know,” Yanjun said quietly, quickly. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Zhangjing. That’s, um--”

“If not us,” Zhangjing said. “Then tell the hospital what’s going on. They probably have their suspicions already, Yanjun.”

Yanjun’s breaths started to come more quickly, and his palms were trembling in Zhangjing’s hold. Zhangjing frowned and squeezed Yanjun’s hands to remind him that he was still with him. “Hey, Yanjun. It’s okay. I know you’re scared, but I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

Yanjun didn’t seem to notice what he was saying, so Zhangjing pulled him in even closer, until he could wrap his arms around Yanjun’s shoulders in a hug. At first Yanjun tensed and put up his fists between them as a reflexive barrier, but after a few breaths he relaxed, and Zhangjing felt his arms come to rest around Zhangjing’s waist. His chin was tucked over Yanjun’s shoulder. He could feel Yanjun’s breaths against his skin at his neck, and it tickled. It felt good. They stayed like that, just holding each other, until it felt to Zhangjing like that this was what he'd been formed to do, to hold Yanjun like this.

Then they both shifted and Zhangjing felt Yanjun’s lips against his skin, right above his pulse. Yanjun’s lips were dry but soft, and the touch felt electric. He gasped, feeling his heart shudder inside of his chest. Yanjun raised his head and looked at him with such an expression of yearning that Zhangjing’s heart broke for him. Their faces hovered close to each other, noses touching, breaths against cheeks. Zhangjing realized he loved how long Yanjun’s eyelashes were, how they curled upwards at the ends, how his cheeks were perfectly smooth. Yanjun’s tongue darted out to lick his own lips, small and pink, and Zhangjing's eyes caught the movement and he gasped again, closing the distance between them and chasing that tongue, pressing his lips against Yanjun’s.

Their mouths stayed closed, pressed against each other. He felt Yanjun lean into him, felt his body sigh. Felt fizzy happiness bubble through his body with the kiss. This was joy, and freedom, and truth, Zhangjing thought. He loved Yanjun. He loved him and he wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and keep him safe and listen to him tell dumb jokes. And now he was kissing him.

Yanjun pulled back first, and Zhangjing realized that some time during this, he’d closed his eyes. He opened them, and wished he hadn’t. Yanjun’s face was white, his eyes dark black with shadows churning behind. He pulled his hands back from Zhangjing’s, and Zhangjing didn’t even have any time to protest, to question, before Yanjun was saying in a breathless, panicked voice, “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I think you should go.”

Zhangjing’s heart fell and shattered at his feet. “What?”

“My head’s all messed up,” Yanjun whispered.

“So that was a mistake?” Zhangjing asked. “Because it didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

“Zhangjing, I can’t do this right now. Please.”

Zhangjing held his tongue. The childish, ego-driven part of him was angry that Yanjun was reacting this way, but the other part of him tried harder to understand. Yanjun’s brain was probably completely overtaken by thoughts of his hospital stay, of his father, of where he was going to live after tomorrow. Trying to fit a relationship in with all that chaos was probably like trying to force oil and water to blend.

“Fine,” Zhangjing said. “But we’re talking about this later. When you get out. We’re not ignoring this.” Yanjun looked terrified as he nodded, but that was good enough for Zhangjing. The older boy clambered off the bed and put his shoes back on, grabbing his book bag and putting it over one shoulder. “I’ll try to come by tomorrow, okay? And think about what I said. About you staying with us. And about telling the hospital.”

“I will,” Yanjun promised.

Zhangjing left reluctantly, dragging his feet as Yanjun watched. They said good bye at least three times before Zhangjing finally made it out the door and hospital. As he rode the bus home he faced his own reflection in the window, touched his fingers to his lips, feeling how soft the skin was there, remembering how it felt to press his mouth against Yanjun’s, how his eyelashes felt brushing against his cheek. He knocked his head against the glass with a loud thunk, pouting, allowing the childish, ego-driven part of himself to come out for just a moment. “Boys are dumb,” he said aloud. The girl in the seat next to him looked over and flashed him a little smile in camaraderie.

.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day passed in a blur. Zhangjing could hardly wait to finish rehearsal so that he could see Yanjun in the hospital. He’d spoken to his parents last night about the possibility of Yanjun staying with them longer-term and they’d both been on board. His mother had even asked him what Yanjun’s favorite food was so that she could prepare something delicious for him when he arrived. If he arrived.

Zhangjing knew there was a possibility that Yanjun would go back with his parents. He knew there was a possibility of Yanjun being placed with another family, maybe even outside of Taipei. But those thoughts made a sour, uneasy feeling creep up inside of him, so he chose to focus on optimism instead. Yanjun was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. And then they were going to talk about that kiss.

He still kind of felt like he was floating on air after that kiss. Sure, what Yanjun said after was kind of a punch to the gut, but before that, it was perfect. He skipped on the way to Yanjun’s room, remembering how perfect it had been.

The room was quiet when he got there, and all the curtains were drawn shut. Zhangjing went to the corner bed and grabbed the fabric of the curtain, grinning. “Yanjun!” he called out, excitedly pulling the curtain back. The metal rings the fabric was hanging from squeaked and ground against each other. 

The bed was empty.

At first, panic set in. He was gone! Yanjun didn’t send him any messages or anything, so where could he be?! Did his parents take him home? Anxiousness gnawed at his insides until he registered that the covers were a mess all over the mattress, that there was a half-full glass of water beside Yanjun’s folded glasses on the table beside the bed. 

Ah, Yanjun’s glasses. He hadn’t seen those in a while. Curious, he picked them up and held the lenses in front of his face, squinting and shaking his head when looking through the glasses distorted his vision slightly. He put them back down, and slowly took a seat in the visitor’s chair. He wondered where Yanjun had gone. More tests, possibly? And then he wondered how long he’d be. The sky was already starting to get dark outside, and visitor’s hours would be over within the hour. He fell against the back of the seat, content to wait for as long as he could, and then decided that he might as well get some homework done while he was waiting.

.

Zhangjing was deep into analyzing the historical poetry text in his lap, tip of his pen between his lips, when he heard voices at the door. He swiveled in his seat and saw Yanjun in a fluffy grey sweater and black jeans coming through the door frame, hand braced against the wall. 

A woman was beside him. At first, Zhangjing felt an odd sense of deja vu looking at her, and was unable to pinpoint why. Then he realized: she and Yanjun had almost identical noses, and her cheekbones were high and full like his, her build slender. The resemblance was such that they could be siblings. She was older but it didn’t seem by that much, with laugh lines around her eyes, and she was almost a whole head shorter than Yanjun.

He closed his textbook and put it away, standing as they neared. Yanjun noticed him first, flashing a smirk his way. The bruise around his eye was almost completely gone, and though he walked slowly and carefully, Zhangjing could tell he was happy to be on his feet and moving around. Healing.

“A-yi,” Yanjun said, tugging on the arm of the woman next to him, “this is You Zhangjing.”  _ A-yi _ , Zhangjing thought. It could mean  _ aunt _ , but it was a term you could use to address an older female. Zhangjing turned to her, smiling with his lips closed, and bowed in greeting. 

She inclined her head too. “I’m Ruby Lin,” she said. “Xiao Ju has been telling me a lot about you.” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, and Zhangjing blushed.

“Xiao Ju?” Zhangjing giggled. “I haven’t heard that in ages.”

“Me neither,” Yanjun said with a pout, sulking. “And you make it seem like I’m obsessed with Zhangjing or something.” To Zhangjing, he said, “I’ve only told her a little bit.”

“Enough,” Ruby teased. “You’ve told me enough.”

Zhangjing looked between them, confused but a little charmed by their banter. “I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “are you…?”

“Oh! I’m Xiao Ju’s mom’s cousin,” she explained. “I came by to take him home.”

“Home?” Zhangjing’s eyes widened and he looked at Yanjun, who by now was putting his hands on the bed and trying to sit without wincing too much. 

“Yes, to mine,” Ruby said. “Don’t worry. I’m not too far, so you’ll still be able to see each other!”

“And it’ll be the same school,” Yanjun said quietly. Zhangjing felt his knees weaken with sudden relief, and he plopped onto the bed beside Yanjun, the mattress bouncing slightly. Yanjun was looking at him, expression serene, a little smile curling across his lips. It took Zhangjing’s breath away.

“I’ll...give you two some time,” Ruby said, taking a step back. “I have to sign you out, anyway, Xiao Ju.”

Zhangjing barely noticed her leave. Yanjun’s hand was so close to Zhangjing’s on the bed that he could feel the magnetic heat radiating from his fingers. He put his hand over Yanjun’s. “So you told the hospital everything?”

“I did,” Yanjun said, eyes flicking to their hands and back. “But you were right. They suspected. Saw stuff when they were taking x-rays. They got a social worker involved. But me telling the truth helped, so thank you for...telling me I needed to do that.”

Zhangjing found himself playing with Yanjun’s fingers. He couldn’t get enough of the way his fingers curled, the way his skin felt against his, the roughness of his knuckles. “Silly, you don’t need to thank me. You’re the one who did it, who told the truth. That was brave.”

They sat in silence for a little while, and it wasn’t awkward at all. Just peaceful, like the feeling of looking out over a vast, tranquil lake. He had the sudden thought of wanting to take Yanjun somewhere like that. Somewhere out in the open where they could hold hands and share in something beautiful. For this -- whatever this was between them, the start of something -- to exist outside of the hospital. He hoped.

“So this is it?”

“This is it,” Yanjun said. “They called her this morning and she’s been getting ready all day. I’m going home with her. I...When I was little, she used to visit. But she stopped visiting and we lost touch.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Zhangjing asked.

Yanjun said, “I think so.”

“Is that the truth?”

Yanjun chuckled briefly. He turned their hands over, absently drawing patterns with his pointer finger into Zhangjing’s palm. “The truth is I’m really nervous,” Yanjun said. “I don’t remember much about her but I think...she’s kind. I think I’ll be okay.”

“If there’s anything at all,” Zhangjing said in a rush, “ _ anything _ , you can always stay with us, Yanjun. I mean it.”

“I know you mean it. Thank you.” Yanjun’s cheeks turned a little pink, and Zhangjing’s heart noticed and picked up its pace. He could not stop himself from raising his hand and cupping Yanjun’s warm, pink cheek in his palm. The other boy’s skin was soft, and Zhangjing saw how his eyes flickered down to peek at Zhangjing’s lips, and their faces drew near seemingly without even realizing it. “There’s something else,” Yanjun whispered, his breath puffing across Zhangjing’s cheek.

“Tell me.”

“I’m sorry about freaking out yesterday.” Yanjun kept his voice low, so that even if there was anyone around, only Zhangjing would be able to hear. The older boy watched the knot of Yanjun’s throat bob as he swallowed. “I practiced this in my head,” Yanjun said with a nervous chuckle. Zhangjing was patient, brushing his thumb over Yanjun’s hand, encouraging him. Yanjun whispered, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. I’m just -- it scared me. How good it felt, being with you, being myself with you. Being me has gotten me hurt for a really long time, you know? So I’m sorry if I -- that I hurt you, too.”

Zhangjing let the words brush over him and sink in. He felt warmed. “It’s true, you did hurt me a little,” Zhangjing said. When Yanjun tried to draw back and apologize, eyes dark with worry, Zhangjing held him fast, his hand against his cheek, and drew in a deep breath. “But this is important. Us talking about it. Working it out together. Because I liked that you kissed me. I like  _ you _ . I want you to be yourself with me, to feel like you can be.” 

Their breaths had synced up. They were now so close that when Yanjun’s lips formed a small smile, Zhangjing could feel the movement like a breeze across his own lips. “So I accept your apology,” Zhangjing whispered. “Now kiss me again.”

Yanjun pressed his lips against Zhangjing’s, and when Zhangjing gasped, he felt Yanjun lick into his mouth, shyly, sweetly, asking for permission. Zhangjing giggled and gave it to him, and they kissed each other on the hospital bed, giddy with each other. He felt Yanjun’s hand come around to rest on his hip. Yanjun’s kisses were like the morning sun after a long, cold night. He wanted very badly to lie down with him, to curl up next to him in the bed and kiss like that, lazily and indulgently. Finally, after all this time, he thought. 

And then Ruby cleared her throat at the doorway. They drew apart like they’d been shocked, dazed with each other, both blushing furiously. For a moment, Zhangjing could see the wild panic in Yanjun’s eyes at being caught, but all Ruby said was, “You guys are very sweet together, but unfortunately I am illegally parked in the emergency drop-off area, so we gotta get a move on. Xiao You, do you need a ride home?”

Zhangjing looked at Yanjun, the relief behind his eyes palpable. His smile was full of hope.

.

_ Later. _

As the curtains drew shut for the final time that night and the lights came on in the auditorium, the roar of applause from the audience faded into the background. Zhangjing stood on stage behind the curtains and breathed in deep, his fellow cast and crew members milling about around him, congratulating each other for a job well done. 

Zhengting and Xukun found him and they hugged each other in a circle and danced and laughed and Chaoze came by to let them know they did all right in the dance numbers. Just all right. But they knew what he meant and yanked him into their hug also.

Lost in celebration, it took a moment before Zhangjing registered that someone was tapping on his shoulder, trying to get his attention. Zhengting had to point it out to him as they broke their celebration-hug. 

“Jing-Ge,” Zhengting said, “I think there’s someone waiting for you.” He nodded his chin in the direction of stage-left, and Zhangjing looked.

Yanjun stood on the stage a little awkwardly, hands behind his back. He’d changed from his school uniform into something more casual -- black jeans and a white t-shirt and a cute bomber jacket he and Zhangjing had picked out the last time they’d gone shopping together. He looked amazing.

Xukun cheered. “Woo! Ge, go get your boy. Oomf!” Zhengting had elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

Zhangjing strode over to Yanjun. His friends seemed to move out of the way for him, like they were drifting in Zhangjing’s wake. “Hi,” he said when he reached him, hands naturally reaching out to rest on Yanjun’s hips and drawing close until they were pressed chest-to-chest. Zhangjing was still in his stage makeup from being Lumiere, knew he probably looked ridiculous up-close, but Yanjun’s returning smile made him feel like the most beautiful person in the world.

“Hey,” Yanjun said, leaning down to peck Zhangjing on the lips.

“What do you have behind your back?” Zhangjing asked, trying to surreptitiously sneak his hands behind Yanjun.

Yanjun stepped away, grinning, keeping his hands behind his back still. “You’re so greedy,” he said. “Can’t I just tell you how amazing you were in the musical and how beautiful and talented you are and how lucky I am that you even look at me for a little bit?”

“Hm.” Zhangjing pretended to think about it. “You can.”

“Well,” Yanjun said, “here I am telling you how amazing you were and how beautiful and talented you are and how lucky I am that you even look at me.”

Zhangjing flushed under his heavy makeup. After a few weeks of being with Yanjun, you’d think he’d get more accustomed to Yanjun’s flirtatious compliments, but Yanjun’s blatant statements of adoration still made him feel like there was a little hummingbird trapped inside of his chest trying to get out. “Yanjun,” he whined.

Yanjun brought his hands around to the front, revealing his surprise. It was a bouquet of flowers, prettily arranged, all pinks and purples and reds. Zhangjing squealed. “I brought flowers,” Yanjun said. “For my flower.”

“I can’t believe I let you get away with saying cheesy things like that!” Zhangjing said as he reached for the bouquet. He brought the blooms up to his face, inhaling their sweet floral scent. “This is so lovely, Yanjun. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey Zhangjing!” Xukun was calling to him. Zhangjing turned. “We’re going out for noodles,” he said. “To celebrate. Want to join?” The invitation was for them both. Beside Xukun, Ziyi and Linong were both talking to Zhengting, laughing and joking around. “The others will meet us there.” 

Zhangjing felt Yanjun’s hand upon his hip, and leaned into the touch. Over the past few weeks as Yanjun recovered, he’d laid low in school and classes, joining the group for lunch most days. As promised, Zhangjing had hosted everyone for a night of games and food, but for much of the night, Yanjun had stayed close to Zhangjing’s side. He asked over his shoulder, unsure if Yanjun would be up to it but hoping, “Want to go?”

Yanjun took his hand, smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go together.”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i first planned this i had meant for it to be like 6 chapters. but then it grew. i guess my love for yanjun and zhangjing grew with it :) thanks so much for reading and sharing your comments and thoughts and support <3 this was my first npc fic but it probably won't be the last!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading~ kudos and comments are appreciated <3
> 
> also I’m on Twitter! @andnowforyaya please come talk about zhangjun and zikun with me


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